These Are The Reasons My Husband Will Probably Divorce Me
I have been married for almost 8 years and I can guarantee that the things my husband might have found endearing about me when we first began our love affair are now that things that make him want to disappear into the woods for hours on end, such as my need to have as much white noise as possible when I sleep, not limited to a fan blasting at the highest speed and, as of recently, a video on Amazon Prime that shows the same picture of a stream for 4 hours at a time. No kidding, he tried to switch up my stream video during Halloween to a picture of a jack-o-lantern that played creepy music, which I'm not necessarily opposed to but just wasn't feeling at the time because I had finally found my sleep groove, and I just about punched him in the face. Anyway, here's all the reasons my husband will probably leave my ass one day...
- The state of the interior of my car. It drives him up the fucking wall. It is extremely messy, but in my defense I have 1300 kids jumping up in that bitch all day long and I don't have time to make sure that the middle child remembers to take her Go Gurt wrapper off of the floor or to recycle my 400 seltzer cans that litter the front passenger seat, because that's where they get thrown when I'm trying to make room for a new can in the cup holders. Also, I probably should throw away all the Dunkin Donut bags when I get home, but by that time the bag has slid onto the floor, mostly because of the fast driving and then slamming on the breaks, and I just can't be bothered to bend over and grab that shit. Instead I put empty bags inside of empty bags until one massive bag forms and then I panic run to the car before my husband and grab that shit real quick before I get yet another lecture about what a pig sty my vehicle is. I know I should just clean it out like he asks but it's fucking cold outside and this bitch would rather drive in filth than freeze trying to cram all the garbage into one little plastic bag because I'm too lazy to go inside and get another plastic bag, because once I'm inside, let's be honest, I'm heading straight to the couch while mentally congratulating myself on a half-assed job well done.
- I wash his t-shirts in the same load as his jeans and towels. For some reason he seems to think that his shirts are vintage pieces of gold that need to be treated SUPER delicately, instead of what they really are: OLD WORK SHIRTS! He doesn't own one fancy shirt. Not one. Nothing that costs over $20 anyway, so why the fuck should I do yet another load of wash just to preserve that tank top he bought at Target that seriously resembles a goat head in front of a pentagram? If that one got destroyed I'm pretty sure no one would miss it, even Satan.
- I don't take the shower liner out of the bathtub before I bathe our children. This one is an honest mistake on my part but he probably thinks I do it on purpose. He must think the liner is riddled with germs and algae because I literally just heard him have a small stroke the other night when he went to check on the girls and the liner was in the tub with them. OH MY GOD HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU KIDS TO TAKE THE LINER OUT OF THE TUB BEFORE YOU TAKE A BATH???!!! It wasn't their fault in the slightest, that thing was in the tub when they got in, but I still totally let them take the fall for it.
- I am absolutely irrational when I don't sleep. My baby has decided to regress to his newborn days and wake up every hour on the hour for the past few nights which has left me scrambling to remember who I am and why I am on this planet. My husband has only had to deal with that sort of sleep deprivation when the baby was two weeks old and I was in the hospital getting stones removed from my innards. That was almost 4 months ago and motherfucker (husband, NOT precious angel baby straight from heaven) has been able to sleep peacefully uninterrupted since then. Yesterday morning he innocently came into the bedroom and sweetly said something about me being up all night. Instead of calmly saying yes I had been up all night I yelled, I'VE LITERALLY BEEN UP ALL FUCKING NIGHT LONG WITH THIS NIGHTMARE OF A CHILD AND I'M FUCKING EXHAUSTED AND I'M NOT GOING TO GET ANY SORT OF BREAK TODAY BECAUSE YOUR OTHER CHILD IS GOING TO BE UP MY ASSHOLE UNTIL SHE GOES TO SCHOOL FOR A FEW HOURS AND EVEN THEN I WON'T BE ABLE TO NAP BECAUSE I GUARANTEE THE GODDAMNED BABY WON'T LET ME! And he said nothing and slowly backed out of the room. As he should.
- I don't let him sleep in our bedroom. Since he decided that snoring like a freight train was how he would live his best life, he's banned from sleeping with me. He gets this now, but every once in a while he will still try to pass out while we watch shit on Netflix and I gently (READ: super aggressively) wake him up and send him on his way. For now he has to sleep upstairs in the playroom on this super cute but horrendously uncomfortable futon thing I bought after eyeing it up online for months. It's basically the equivalent of sleeping on the floor but if he really wanted to sleep in more comfortable quarters, like his own bed, he would figure out how to not sound like WWII is coming out of his face holes when he sleeps. I already wake up 700 times a night because of the baby, I don't need to wake up in a panic thinking we're on Normandy Beach in 1944.
Now, I'm sure if my husband were in charge of this list, it would be a fuck of a lot longer. I'm not stupid. I annoy him on a daily basis with my constant need for attention while simultaneously demanding time alone because if one more kid follows me around from room to room singing or asking the same question over and over again I just might go out for a pack of smokes and not come back. I'm not an easy person to cohabitate with, but neither is he. Somehow we've made it work this long, probably because he's smart enough to know to shut his gd mouth when I'm ranting once again about some nonsensical crap like the bitch in Walmart that gave me side eye, or why I can't seem to get my shit together and stop wasting the lettuce I buy every week. I mean, my intentions are good, but I just can't seem to make a fucking salad. Whatever. Somehow we work, which is a good thing because the thought of shaving my legs and putting my face on to impress some random ass dude off of the internet makes me want to kill myself hard.