Sometimes I think my husband just does millions of thoughtful things for me every day to make me feel bad. He is so good that it sometimes makes me mad.
The other night, my girlfriend and I went out for dinner and I got a text asking me to bring home a simple side salad with ranch dressing. Easy enough. I asked our waitress for one and told her to hold the tomatoes and cucumbers, meaning that it would apparently just be lettuce. My internal dialogue went something like this: It will be iceberg lettuce, which he hates, and I just bought lettuce today…so I will just make him a salad when I get home. I bet he just wants the ranch anyway. So I did not get the salad. Fast forward to me walking in the door with a lone soufflé cup of ranch dressing and explaining my dilemma. He looked crushed and explained that he really sometimes just feels like the crunch of iceberg lettuce and that this was one of those times. Wife fail #738.
Another reason why I sometimes suck involves my cooking. I try really, really hard and I make healthy and interesting meals, but I just am not the best. Maybe it’s because I don’t always follow the recipe; maybe it’s because I don’t really care about food that much and would rather eat cereal anyway; maybe it’s because I’m not creative. Whatever the reason, I would say that at least one meal per week is a fail. He is usually a brutally honest critic—like The New York Times to the tenth power—but pretty much always eats it. My dearly beloved, on the other hand, is a fantastic cook. He likes food and is creative and adventurous and everything he touches turns to culinary gold. (Just like King Midas). So. Annoying. He also always catches me when I leave the oven on accidentally. But that’s another story for another day.
I also sometimes get “hangry” (hungry + angry) and I don’t always like to let people have a bite. I’m like a food aggressive dog. King Midas will sometimes say (of course, very nicely), “Hey…have you had breakfast?” I (not so sweetly) respond, “WHY DO YOU ASK?!” I basically turn into Aretha Franklin in the Snickers commercial; I’m just not me when I’m hungry.
Also, I suck because I do not willingly share my pillow. So sue me; it’s a legit down pillow (sorry, all you PETA fans) and I’ve had it since I was a little girl and it’s perfect and doesn’t have any lumps and somehow it never gets hot and itchy on my head. The other night, I noticed that King Midas had my pillow; so when he woke up in the night to go get a drink of water, I made a quick and stealthy switch. Premeditated and sneaky selfishness.
I also complain when he wants to watch this stupid treehouse show on Animal Planet. Like, who would really make a full one-hour program on treehouses? Is the demand really that high? And who would possibly want to watch a full one-hour program on treehouses? Oops.
Well, I think that’s enough examples for now. I think I’ll go read How To Be a Better Wife for Dummies or something. Right after I grab a Snickers.