Men, You Can't Live With Them. Why CAN'T You Kill Them?

Before I begin my rant, I have to finally admit to myself that, at least for the time being, I'm going to be mostly a weekend blogger. My job is draining every last ounce of energy from me that, during the week, it's just getting harder to find time to blog. I had to remind myself that I started this blog mainly for myself (although I'm very happy some of you have come along for the ride), and it's not supposed to be something I HAVE to do, but something I want to do. So, I hope you won't forget about me and still stop by now and then. I may drop a post or two during the week, if I'm motivated enough and I'll definitely be still checking out your spots.

Anyway, on to today's story. My husband, the LSH, had knee surgery on Monday. He's doing very well, thanks. Although he had the surgery Monday, he's actually been out of work on disability for a month. His being home has allowed what is probably my biggest peeve about him, rise back up to the surface. He will NOT do anything that would be considered housework, unless I TELL him. This has been going on since we first moved in together many moons ago. And, when he DOES some chore that I requested him to do and I don't mention it, he'll say "Did you see I vacuumed?" Uh, yes. Did you see when I vacuumed the 500 times previously? And he has since learned NOT to say "I did the laundry for YOU." When he would say that, my response was "Oh, you only washed MY clothes?" He got that point pretty quick.

When I'm really annoyed about this, I'll say "Can't you see the dog's biscuit crumbs all over the floor? How 'bout that green stuff growing in the shower? Unless,maybe you forgot to tell me you're growing your own penicillin?" His response is "I don't notice these things." How convenient his eyes can filter out the mess around him. Yesterday, put me over the top. I came in from work. He's sitting at the kitchen table and I see red blotches on the floor near the sink. My first thought was that it might be blood; maybe the dog had cut his paw. As I walked over to it I said "Oh, what's this red stuff?" And, without even looking up, he says, "oh, it's liquid from some strawberries I opened before." WHAT? You knew you had spilt this and left it there? He looked at me sheepishly, but he didn't answer.

I've approached this various ways with him. I know psychologists say, instead of just saying what's getting on your nerves, you should explain how it makes you feel. One of the things the LSH does that fits into this category is when he gets himself something to eat, he inevitably will leave whatever plates, glasses, utensils he used, in the sink. So, I've taken this approach. "When you leave your dishes in the sink, I FEEL like you believe it's my job to clean up after you." There. Didn't I present that perfectly? No accusations, no whining. Just a simple statement of how I feel. Has it helped? NOT A DAMN BIT!

Don't get me wrong. He's very handy around the house, when the mood suits him. He's just not motivated.

I was planning on starting this post earlier, but I had to vacuum, do the dishes, put the laundry in. Where's the LSH? In the bedroom, watching "Twister" for the 88th time. I was going to tell him that , you know, the ending isn't going to be any different then it was the previous 87 times he saw it. But, hey. Why spoil the suspense?

POSTSCRIPT: I really do love him.

TOMORROW: The Other Man In My Life That Drives Me Insane - My Boss