*SIGH* with a disdaining sigh of despairingly devoted agitation I remove the hand towel from its rack. Starting where the problem begins, I wipe down the spigot removing all the water spots and drops. Next comes the puddles on the counter top and onto the backsplash. Finally the area beneath the soap dispenser bottle thingie. Here the water has congealed with the spilt hand soap giving it the consistency of soapy snot… *insert a brief gag of disgust here.*
There, all dry and ship-shape; sinks are kind of shaped like ships so that’s OK. The hand towel will have to be replaced because it’s soaked and gross. So we drop the soiled towel into the laundry basket, obtain a fresh towel, place towel on rack above nice clean dry sink – there all done. Just in time too, for here is the source of my annoyance… err devotion, needing to use the pot-tay. Stepping aside with a smile, which turns into a grimace, I allow my “better half” passage into the room of rest. Don’t say a word, let it slide, get something to drink and smoke it away.
Today is a time of testing. An hour later, returning to the restroom to finish what I’d started an hour before (some poops take time), finding the facilities in a similar state I had undone 60 minutes ago. *SIGH* I’ll take care of the sink…again… when the paper work has been filed (that’s code for wiping and flushing the poops).
Perching on the porcelain throne, hail to the king, I find yet another *SIG…* NO! Not a sigh at all but rather a *WTF????* There upon the toilet paper roll hang three squares of precious TP. Three… nay, half of the last will stick to the roll, so 2 ½ sheets of TP dangle sadly from the roll. Tis not enough to use post-poo! This is the literal and metaphorically represented last straw!
When we meet someone and begin the dating process we bring our best to the table. Hygiene, manners, self-maintenance, patience and positive personality traits are at an all-time high. Once married or moved in some of the pretense falls away and initially a partner’s quirks are openly accepted and cute. We feel like we’re really getting to know the real each other and that makes the relationship feel secure. However somewhere between the 5 year mark and the turn of a decade our tolerance slims and that s*** ain’t cute or charming no more. As a matter of fact it’s downright annoying on a daily basis… and here we are!
There is some heartfelt yelling, complemented with an overly sarcastic demonstration on how to properly use the sink as a sink not a water park. All backed by a profound logic that, “I am a foot taller than you and manage to keep the water in the sink or down the drain. You’re closer to the sink by a foot and manage to get water all over the place, how is that possible???” Before I can question the TP logic she retorts with, “Well I have to clean up your butt fuzzies every time I need to use the toilet!”
Butt fuzzies??? WTF are butt fuzzies? I was very offended, I have not nor ever will be afflicted with the berries of dingling (I’m a very conscientious wiper).
Wait, are we talking body hair…from the butt? I’m fuzzy all over, I shed all over and those could be belly or elbow fuzzies for all we know! Maybe we should discuss the long red hairs all over the place…them ain’t none of my fuzzies.
Calmly (as always) Lil Red (that’s the spouse, Lil because she is and Red because of her red hair- which is all over the place) points out the butt fuzzies. Oh, she means those little pieces of TP on the back of the toilet seat…looks almost like sawdust…where’d those come from? I was then informed that my furry backside and vigorous wiping habits created a sandpaper like friction with the TP with the end result being butt fuzzies. Well what do you know, that’s actually a very interesting scientific phenomenon. Naturally Red does not share my appreciation for physics.
With the battle joined, I countered with the TP roll issue (another sarcastic demonstration: how hard is this). She lashed back with my disgusting tea cup (not the pip-pip cheerio kind but the legally pilfered from Pizza Hut kind) that I never seem to wash. Well what about your multitude of travel mugs with just a sip of coffee and backwash that compile by the sink? Oh yeah, well what about this and what about that and this and that and this and that and this…is getting us nowhere.
When the wind blows too hard, too long or too much, a tree, no matter how strong its roots, may fall. Sometimes it’s too big and weighted by years to lift. The only way to set it to right is to trim a few limbs. You may change its shape and the way it grows in the future, but if each takes a little off their side it will stand again.
Reality and reason set in, apologies are made and accepted, along with promises and compromise. The first order of business is she being a little more mindful of the mess she makes sink-side. In exchange for this courtesy and curbing of habit, I shall in return be sure that all butt fuzzies in the future are filed with the rest of the paperwork.
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Hope to hear from ya, until then try and stay focused. See ya!
