Silverware reproduction.
A strange thing happened here in the last week. I mean a strange thing happens here almost daily, but this one is beyond any “reasonable” explanation I can come up with. Hubby, while emptying the dishwasher, informed me that we now have mis-matched silverware. To be exact, we have one extra spoon and one extra fork. Neither of which match my Amazon silverware, or each other. How this happens, I have no idea. There must be some type of obscene silverware mating ritual going on in my kitchen, I’m sure. I need to learn to stop trying to make sense of all the things that happen around here.
In other oddities, Daytime Emmy Nominee finally found the toilet paper supply in our house yesterday. She has been with us for 81 weeks. Which means I have, at least 81 times, answered her question as to where the toilet paper is. At least 81 times I have assured her that, “yes, it is in that closet.” At least 81 times of, “I’m telling you, it is right in front of you.” And at least 81 times of, “just forget it, I’ll get it myself.” So 81 weeks later, when I hear her exclaim from the front closet that I was right, and she finally found the toilet paper where I told her it had been, I was a bit taken off guard. The fact that she was actually excited about the success here, leaves me impressed. Wish that type of thing was a major triumph in my day. Goals.
It is what most call mid-winter break right now. That means all the little childrens are home… with me… bonding. I am not super girly. I have not ever been super girly. I don’t aspire to be super girly. My forms of entertainment have never been dress up, make up parties, or endless giggles over how cute something is. In my opinion, the pantsuit movement was one of the best times ever. In stark contrast to me, seems every girl that is home with me right now has a serious case of the gossips and the giggles. So by 2pm I’m about at giggle overload. That is saying a lot because and I don’t think most of them even woke up until noon.
I appreciate quiet, which I’m clearly not getting today, while Hubby needs the tv on to do what he considers relaxing. It is likely one of the very few things we don’t agree on. He looks at me at the end of the day and tosses a remote my way, telling me to put on whatever I want. He knows I don’t even want it on, let alone some specific show. However, the alternative involves passive aggressive pouting and long exaggerated man sighs. I’ll pass. He knows it. On goes the tv. I have watched every episode of Dateline ever aired, that I never really wanted to watch in the first place, and he is asleep before the opening credits are done. If I ever want to commit the perfect crime, I’ve now done all the necessary research. Last night was one of what seems like 30 episodes involving antifreeze and its use to speed up your not so loved ones demise.
On the weekend, he watches something of no interest to me all day long. I guarantee that the TV in our bedroom was on near non stop while I was out of town, even while no one was home. The animals probably saw Top Gun, Back to the Future and Maverick on loop, for a week. I’m shocked that none of the birds are signing Great Balls of Fire or begging Goose to come back to them. We don’t have cable, so the TV is like a gateway to all things wonderful for Hubby. So many choices. I honestly had no idea there were that many films revolving around Burt Reynolds character, Bandit. I do now know they should have stopped at one. Spare yourselves the experience. It’s not cinematic genius by any means.
We’ve now both hit the stage in life where you can’t quite hear like you used to. He is clearly worse than I am because he’s always got the TV or the radio volume set to, “I’m deaf, and soon you will be too.”
Me: Can you hear that?
Hubby: What?
Me: CAN YOU HEAR THAT?
Hubby: Geeze, why are you so crabby?
I don’t even know why he needs to hear it. He’s got to have so many things going at once that he’s not paying attention to any of them. If you ask him a question while he is sending a text, he makes to clear he can’t engage in two things at once. On the flip side of that, he needs the TV on while making a continuous scroll through Facebook Marketplace to fall asleep. If you ask him, he absolutely is multitasking. Sure, dude. Sure. Please, continue to send me links for things like Studebaker Beer Trucks for 100k. I’m not doing anything, like wishing I was asleep right now.
His hard of hearing really compliments his ability to tune out the sounds of children.
“Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad. Hey Dad.”
The level of oblivious is impressive. His advice to me, “I don’t know why you don’t just tune it out.” Maybe Moms just aren’t born with that skill set? For me, when I feel myself needing a moment, I hide behind my closed bedroom door. I’ve learned to just respond to knocking with, “Nope.” If you don’t respond, the knocking switches from serving as a request for permission to enter, to, I hope you’re dressed, because here I come. Trust me. It’s better for all parties involved if you just go with the, “Nope.”
Me: Ack, why are you in my room!
Cohort: I knocked.
Me: Pretty sure knocking is a question and not a declaration. You’re lucky you didn’t get an eyeful.
Cohort: But I knocked.
Me: Forget it.
