Crowded House.
Apparently, Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo, although married, kept adjoining houses with a walkway connecting them. While I would not have gone to Mr. Rivera for dietary tips or Ms. Kahlo for face-waxing suggestions, I am starting to think they were on to something with their living situation.
Is anyone else starting to doubt the sanity of sharing a dwelling with someone you love? It would be one thing if Consort and I were roommates; I’ve had housemates with some serious quirks, and as long as it didn’t affect my quality of life or bring FBI agents to our door, I cared little. But there is something about knowing someone so intimately and loving them so deeply that, occasionally, makes you want to hit them repeatedly.
Case in point #1: Towels. Consort and I have a slightly different interpretation of what towels do. I believe they dry your body when it is wet. Consort believes they are an art installation. He must believe that, otherwise why does he leave the bathroom [passing both towel rods and towel hooks en route] and carefully create a hillock of wet terrycloth in the middle of our bed? And if it’s not “Towel Lump Crowning Bed, #45”, it’s “Pima Protuberance on Couch, #17” or “Swelling on Office Table, #28”. He doesn’t even know he does it; I know this because he’ll be chatting away about his day to me while putting on shoes, all the while my brain only hears Wet towel on bed, Wet towel on bed getting quilt wet, Wet towel on bed possibly creating mold.
When I finally scream in agony “Oh, would you please put the towel in the bathroom before the black mold takes over?”, Consort looks at the bed, startled. He has no idea where that towel came from, but if it will make me stop clawing at my throat, he would be more than happy to take the towel into the bathroom and arrange it in a fetching mass behind the toilet.
Case in point #2: Mechanical objects. I suspect I am not the only one in this house with the occasional longing for a room of one’s own, preferably attached to a very attractive beach house fifteen miles away. As it would come as no surprise to anyone who has read more than three of my blog entries, I can be a bit of a chore, with aspects of my personality that are both quirky and deeply held. For example, Consort is forced to live with a woman who believes any machine making a strange noise will repair itself if given enough time. He walks through the back room as the dryer is making a noise which sounds kind of like “WHEEEEEEEEEE whack WHEEEEEEEE whack”. I sit at the kitchen table attacking a crossword puzzle.
CONSORT: I don’t think the dryer should be making that noise.
QUINN: It’s getting better. It used to sound like “WHEEE whack whack hssss”.
CONSORT: How long has it been making this noise?
QUINN: This particular one? Oh, maybe a couple of days.
CONSORT: I see. Any other unusual noises?
QUINN: Oh, sure. Lots of them.
This is right about when his lips get all thin and he mumbles for a while.
Case in point #3: Familiarity does not breed contempt in this house, but it certainly produces a fine case of aggravation. Consort believes I cannot sleep if he reads in bed; he believes I lie there and only pretend to sleep, so as not to hurt his feelings. He believes this even though I have assured him for years that his bedside light being on doesn’t affect my sleep. He believes this even though I have never given him any indication that hurting his feelings bothers me at all. And yet, even though he believes this devoutly, he persists in the following gambit at least twice a week:
I am in bed, in traditional sleeping position, eyes closed. Consort comes in with pile of newspapers and turns on his bedside light.
CONSORT: Would you mind if I read in bed?
QUINN: No, not at all.
CONSORT: I better not, it’ll keep you up.
QUINN: Really, it won’t.
CONSORT: Yes, it will.
QUINN: No, it won’t.
CONSORT: Of course it will; you were nearly asleep and when I turned on the light it woke you up.
QUINN: No, having this conversation is what woke me up.
CONSORT: I’ll go read at the kitchen table. Go back to sleep.
Consort turns off his light and leaves. I flip around like a fish on the back of a trawler for a few minutes, and then turn on my light and start reading.
QUINN: YOU MIGHT AS WELL COME IN HERE AND READ, I’M UP.
Consort comes in looking mournful.
CONSORT: I knew my reading would wake you up.
Case in point #4: Consort has to live knowing that anything especially maddening or entertaining he does will be put into a blog read by people around the world. So I’m thinking if anyone should be wishing for a walkway, it would be him.
But the way he removes the toilet paper roll from the holder and leaves it on the bathroom cabinet is really more than any one person should have to stand.
Is anyone else starting to doubt the sanity of sharing a dwelling with someone you love? It would be one thing if Consort and I were roommates; I’ve had housemates with some serious quirks, and as long as it didn’t affect my quality of life or bring FBI agents to our door, I cared little. But there is something about knowing someone so intimately and loving them so deeply that, occasionally, makes you want to hit them repeatedly.
Case in point #1: Towels. Consort and I have a slightly different interpretation of what towels do. I believe they dry your body when it is wet. Consort believes they are an art installation. He must believe that, otherwise why does he leave the bathroom [passing both towel rods and towel hooks en route] and carefully create a hillock of wet terrycloth in the middle of our bed? And if it’s not “Towel Lump Crowning Bed, #45”, it’s “Pima Protuberance on Couch, #17” or “Swelling on Office Table, #28”. He doesn’t even know he does it; I know this because he’ll be chatting away about his day to me while putting on shoes, all the while my brain only hears Wet towel on bed, Wet towel on bed getting quilt wet, Wet towel on bed possibly creating mold.
When I finally scream in agony “Oh, would you please put the towel in the bathroom before the black mold takes over?”, Consort looks at the bed, startled. He has no idea where that towel came from, but if it will make me stop clawing at my throat, he would be more than happy to take the towel into the bathroom and arrange it in a fetching mass behind the toilet.
Case in point #2: Mechanical objects. I suspect I am not the only one in this house with the occasional longing for a room of one’s own, preferably attached to a very attractive beach house fifteen miles away. As it would come as no surprise to anyone who has read more than three of my blog entries, I can be a bit of a chore, with aspects of my personality that are both quirky and deeply held. For example, Consort is forced to live with a woman who believes any machine making a strange noise will repair itself if given enough time. He walks through the back room as the dryer is making a noise which sounds kind of like “WHEEEEEEEEEE whack WHEEEEEEEE whack”. I sit at the kitchen table attacking a crossword puzzle.
CONSORT: I don’t think the dryer should be making that noise.
QUINN: It’s getting better. It used to sound like “WHEEE whack whack hssss”.
CONSORT: How long has it been making this noise?
QUINN: This particular one? Oh, maybe a couple of days.
CONSORT: I see. Any other unusual noises?
QUINN: Oh, sure. Lots of them.
This is right about when his lips get all thin and he mumbles for a while.
Case in point #3: Familiarity does not breed contempt in this house, but it certainly produces a fine case of aggravation. Consort believes I cannot sleep if he reads in bed; he believes I lie there and only pretend to sleep, so as not to hurt his feelings. He believes this even though I have assured him for years that his bedside light being on doesn’t affect my sleep. He believes this even though I have never given him any indication that hurting his feelings bothers me at all. And yet, even though he believes this devoutly, he persists in the following gambit at least twice a week:
I am in bed, in traditional sleeping position, eyes closed. Consort comes in with pile of newspapers and turns on his bedside light.
CONSORT: Would you mind if I read in bed?
QUINN: No, not at all.
CONSORT: I better not, it’ll keep you up.
QUINN: Really, it won’t.
CONSORT: Yes, it will.
QUINN: No, it won’t.
CONSORT: Of course it will; you were nearly asleep and when I turned on the light it woke you up.
QUINN: No, having this conversation is what woke me up.
CONSORT: I’ll go read at the kitchen table. Go back to sleep.
Consort turns off his light and leaves. I flip around like a fish on the back of a trawler for a few minutes, and then turn on my light and start reading.
QUINN: YOU MIGHT AS WELL COME IN HERE AND READ, I’M UP.
Consort comes in looking mournful.
CONSORT: I knew my reading would wake you up.
Case in point #4: Consort has to live knowing that anything especially maddening or entertaining he does will be put into a blog read by people around the world. So I’m thinking if anyone should be wishing for a walkway, it would be him.
But the way he removes the toilet paper roll from the holder and leaves it on the bathroom cabinet is really more than any one person should have to stand.
posted by Unknown at 11:39 PM
7 Comments:
This could only be written by a woman and appreciated by women all over the world!!! I have the same towel problems but I also have 3 SONS that do the same thing...I REALLY need that beach house :)
I would be thrilled if I could just get the Guy in the Boxers to stop running into the bathroom and grabbing the nice big bath towels to use to wipe up the bacon grease he just spilled on the kitchen floor. God help me.
I was scratching my head, trying to figure out when I wrote this blog. It sounds like my house, exactly!!
This had me in stitches!
Funny, funny and oh so true. My husband does the same thing with the t.p. Why is it necessary to remove it from the holder and move it as far as possible from the toilet??
Lisa~~
Our Journey to Baby Shanahan
ellipses - we are married to the same man! What is up with THAT? Of course, when the dishwasher hose breaks and threatens to flood the neighborhood, said husband will grab the paper napkins off the table. Supposedly this man is a genius, which must be true because I cannot understand his ways.
ohmigod *I* am your husband! What a relief to know that there are others like me! I will refer my husband to your blog (I followed a trail here) so he can sympathize with your tribulations. Good luck!
Post a Comment
<< Home