Doilies, Socks, and Dirty Dishes

Help! Becky’s driving me crazy! She wants me to do what I should do without being told to do it.

She’s starting to sound like my wife.

But that’s not the way men are programed. We’ll get it done…pretty soon.

“Can you take the laundry up stairs for me?”

“Pretty soon.”

“Can you reach this off the top shelf?”

“In a minute.”

“Did you pick up the kids from school?”

“Crap, I forgot. I’ll get them after the game.”

Women just don’t seem to realize that what’s important to them isn’t necessarily important to us, at least not right away. After being reminded (their word) or nagged (our word) several times, it eventually becomes more important to relieve that nagging noise in our ears by doing whatever it is that just can’t wait until a commercial or maybe next fall.

Emergency! Emergency! Straighten the doily on the table. Thank God it’s straightened, the president might stop by to ask advice about the mid-East crisis, and he can’t see the house in such disarray. He might think we are not worthy of being United States citizens and exile us to Greenland.

Emergency! Emergency! Bring the dirty dishes into the kitchen, they might draw ants, which will draw other bugs which will draw mice which will draw cats which will draw dogs which will draw lions and tigers and bears.

Oh my.

When I have more dishes on the coffee table than we have in the cabinets, I’ll bring them in. And I rearranged that doily that way on purpose to cover up the coffee ring on the end table, so she would have one less thing to complain about. And who cares if the coffee cups are on the glass shelf and the glasses are on the cups shelf!? GIVE ME A BREAK!

Ok, ok, ok, I’m getting a little carried away, but women can be so damn annoying sometimes.

Ok, ok, ok, there I go again! Deep breath… breathe… relax.

Focus…

And that’s another thing! Focus my wife tells me. How the hell can I focus on folding towels when the game is going into overtime!?

Ok, deep breath… I’ve got it now. Sorry.

This little tirade mirrors a tirade of Becky’s I witnessed the other day. Hers was about her husband leaving his socks in the middle of the living room floor. She thought, “I’ll wait, he’ll see them and pick them up without being asked.” Well, it didn’t happen, so she waited another day, and it still didn’t happen. She was getting pretty animated telling the story. 

The point of the story was that he should see his socks and pick them up on his own, like I should realize that the deadline for my blog is approaching, and I should get it done without her having to remind/nag me. She phrased it more delicately, her voice was soft and sweet, but the point came across loud and clear.

I didn’t ask what happened to her husband and the socks, but after witnessing her tirade, I’m not taking off my socks at her house.