1. His belief that women are "out to get him."
If you don't believe me, I can provide you with a host of evidence. He was quite open with his statements about "The Global Female Conspiracy." He has even written a significant part of a book about it.
2. His detestation of shaving.
3. His inability to follow normal social norms, such as "calling his mother."
4. The fact that he is fundamentally incapable of recognizing when the cat litter needs to be cleaned.
And in the time that I've known him, he has recovered from a multitude of poor habits.
1. Blogging about the sad state of his love life.
I suppose it would be an unfortunate statement on me if he still did...
2. Not cutting his hair.
3. Mocking me regularly because he thinks he is smarter than me.
He still does that.
Anyway, I thought I knew what I was getting into. Nothing can really prepare you for the reality of living with someone new, no matter how much you love them.
Okay, now, if you referred back to my blog posts when I was in college, you might notice that this isn't the first time I may have had complaints about a person I lived with. I still maintain that I am easy to live with, its everyone else who has a problem.
But I digress.
In the year and a half since we got married, we've both changed - hopefully for the better. And some of the really annoying things he did when we first got married are no longer an issue. But he wouldn't be his lovable self if he didn't have a couple of traits that drive me ABSO-BAT-LY INSANE.
1. His joy in my pain.
Everyone who knows me knows that I can get a little emotional from time to time. Apparently, this provides my husband with an endless source of amusement. If I pout, he giggles. If I get mad that he is giggling, he laughs. If I throw something at his head, he is simply tickled pink.
For example: Last December, I fell down the stairs carrying a laundry basket, and bruised my tailbone. Anyone who has bruised their coccyx will concur that it is incredibly painful. We had agreed to attend a Christmas gathering about fifty miles from home the weekend after I hurt myself. I was taking percocet to help with the pain, but it was only moderately successful. The long car ride combined with a lack of sleep left me quite miserable, and I was so grateful to finally crawl into bed. I had only just managed to drop off to sleep, when Mr. Happy dances in the room (LOUDLY) and flips on the light. In pain, exhausted, and suddenly awakened (have I managed to elicit any pity yet?), I began to cry.
And what did my husband do? He laughed. He sniggered his way through an apology, he giggled as he comforted, and he snorted and laughed as he apologized for laughing.
Which only increased my frustration.
So I started alternately yelling at him, and crying. Then our roommate's dog, alarmed by my fit, jumped on the bed in an attempt to comfort me. So I was in pain, drugged, exhausted, angry, and had a lapful of stinky dog.
You would have thought it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen!
I kicked the dog out of bed, and sniffling, pulled the blanket over my head and attempted to block him out entirely. Unfortunately, my arm was still exposed. And God Bless if Ali'i (the dog) didn't decide to
Instead of kicking the dog out of the room after my first expression of displeasure at his presence in our bed, The Hubs let him stay. And that resulted in my elbow being covered in a layer of dog slobber. I glared the glare of death at my beloved, completely un-amused, and then began to sob.
Which caused my husband to fall on the floor. Laughing. Where he continued to roll and laugh and whoop it up for at least the next five minutes, which only escalated my own expression of displeasure.
I wish this was an exaggeration.
The more exasperated I get, the greater his is level of amusement.
He says he can't help it, that I'm just "so adorable," but when I am in the throes of a fit, the last thing I want to hear is my husband laughing at me.
Tune in tomorrow for something else he does that drives me crazy.