Earlier today I started, but didn’t get a chance to complete a blog on how to keep the romance alive. Then I came home to someone who looked like my husband but was clearly a, let me see if I can find the right expletive. Considering it is Holy Week, let’s keep it biblical, and I will be kind and call him a Jackass. Now my post is about how I want to stab him in the fleshy part of his hand at the dinner table with a fork.
I of course have my moments as well, I am not without fault, but this post is about him.
Things have been tense around here due to circumstances beyond our control and that tension is carrying over into our relationship. Knowing how my mind works and how I react to stressful situations, there are a number of things that my love could do to ease my stress and calm my nerves. Just as I tend to him like a newborn little baby when poopsie woopsie has a little head cold, also know as “jennie, you wouldn’t believe the pressure in my skull, I’ve never felt like this before in my life (except the last forty times he has had a head cold), I think I am dying. Can you make me special meals, hot totties, keep the kids quiet and rub my back, while I sleep 15 hours a day until I feel better? He could tend to me, just by being quiet and asking if there is anything he could do to make things a little easier. I am extremely low maintenance. Leave me be, let me get a good night’s sleep and don’t start any ridiculous arguments and we are all good.
Well, either he is really dumb or an evil troll because he loves to pick these times to provoke me into an argument about nonsense! I understand deep down where it is coming from. There has been a lack attention paid to little hubby. Honestly, I could whip him like a slave everyday, as long as he got laid, he would think he has the best wife in town. Unfortunately for him, I am not wired that way. I am not feeling particularly sexy as of late, so Pachanga Palace has been closed. Now there are things he could do to lighten the mood around here but that would be too easy. He chose the path less traveled into romance land.
He complained about the pots he had to wash from dinner. No one asked me to cook that ooey, gooey mess in the first place. Then while I cooked dinner, bathed two kids, folded two loads of laundry, read Goodnight Moon and packed bags for tomorrow after working all day on three hours of sleep, he listened to Du Wop on YouTube. Du Wop does not turn me on. I am in my mid thirties. My parents didn’t even listen to Du Wop. Next in his arsenal of aphrodesiacs, he accused me of “trolling the internet for men”. Wanna know where he got that idea? While singing along to the golden oldies on YouTube, an add popped up for Match.com. Since Mr. Computer Savy 2013 doesn’t know how the internet works other than how to find the best free porn sites, he doesn’t understand that I have no control over what ads pop up on YouTube. Nothing twists my drawers more then accusing me of being disloyal. So naturally I responded with an expletive laced rant. I think he got off easy. I really wanted to hit him in the throat with a wrench. I explained that if I don’t have the energy to mount him, I certainly don’t have it to pursue a whole new person. I also reminded him that nothing turns a woman on more then the sight of her man pushing a vacuum. And then he did it. My second least favorite thing. He flipped the script. I hate script flippers. They make everything your fault and all of the sudden they are the ones hurt or upset. Women are usually very good script flippers. Hubbers is the master. I never have a nice thing to say, I complain about everything and he hasn’t offered to help at all because nothing is ever good enough, so he has given up.
At this point, I can smell my hair burning. I have a very long fuse, I can tolerate a lot, but I have an explosive temper. I have to take a deep breath, say a novena and walk away.
So men, while it is not always your fault that we are cranky or frustrated, you could be an excellent source of comfort. I did pick him to go through this life with, in good times and in bad. Don’t throw fuel on the fire. Sometimes the caregiver needs to be taken care of.
An argument does not constitute foreplay. Niether does asking us if we are in the mood to kiss your pecker.
He went to go on an estimate. Before he left, my little bipolar bear asked if I was in the mood to “pay the bills” later. Just as if nothing happened just ten minutes before. Gotta love his tenacity.