Or, in this case, hang up your jeans. This is a concept that J does not seem to understand. Housework is a touchy subject in our house. J seems to think that the cleaning and other chores just get done by little magical fairies that come in the middle of the night. It’s one of the major things that we fight about.
I admit that I can be a little lax about cleaning the house. First of all…I hate cleaning. And I work a lot so I want to spend my little bit of downtime relaxing and hanging out with J. If it was up to me, I would hire someone to come and clean…expensive, but I feel it’s money well spent. J won’t hear of it. He doesn’t like strangers in his house and often reminds me that my mother’s cleaning lady stole my grandmother’s engagement ring. So I don’t have someone else clean the house…I do it myself. As much as I hate cleaning, I have a system and it only takes me a couple of hours on a Sunday for a major cleaning and then a few minutes each night to tidy up.
I don’t really let J help with the cleaning because I am a control freak and if he doesn’t clean something the way I like it done, I just have to do it over. So if he’s home while I’m cleaning, I usually make him go watch tv or something. Him not helping with the actual cleaning is not the issue. I’m not asking him to clean…I’m just asking him not to make a mess!
The top three that really get under my skin are:
- When he makes peanut butter bones for the dogs in the morning, he leaves the dirty, peanut butter covered knife on the counter. Our counter is brown granite, so it’s a blob of peanut butter really blends in with the pattern. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve put my hand down on the counter, only come up with a palm full of peanut butter. This makes me insane.
- He doesn’t wipe out the sink after brushing his teeth and there are always a few drops of toothpaste left over. He also leaves little hairs around the sink after shaving. The sink is white, which makes every speck of dirt glaringly obvious. Would it kill you to take a tissue and wipe it up?
- His jeans live permanently on the dining room chair. He comes home, takes off his coat and his pants and hangs both on the back of the chair. I don’t like that but I’ve made my peace with it, because he’s been doing it for two years and I can’t get him to stop. The thing is…his pants are now migrating to the living room. Last night, in order to sit on the corner of the couch, I had to move three pairs of pants/jeans. Why do they need to be there.
Last night, we had a sort of “State of the Union” conversation and this stuff came up. He said if his pants were bothering me all I had to do was ask him to move them. Really? Have I not asked you a million times already? Do you think I’m going to change my mind and one day just not care? J is a grown-ass man and I am NOT his mother, so why do I have to remind him of this stuff on a daily basis?
So my darling, J (who reads my blog now!) I don’t want to ask you to move your pants and not leave peanut butter on the counter. I don’t want to be a nagging pain in the ass all the time. I want you to want to move your pants because you know that it makes me happy. Is that really such a difficult concept?