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.
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