The rules and regulations
I spent last night lying on the couch watching movies on the Sci-fi channel. I should have been writing, seeing as my pages are due today, but I was not inspired. I was struggling to fully develop my idea. I am going to try and press through today, but seeing as I am already procrastinating, I don’t think I am going to get much done. I want to be more motivated, but my brain is clicking away with things that have nothing to do with my creative side. It is getting too close to Mazzy’s birthday, I think. It is all I can think about.
At some point yesterday Adam skimmed past an episode of Monk. It was the first time he had ever seen Monk, so his reaction was very real. Watching Monk go on and on about this ‘perfect sandwich’ sent Adam in to a fit of giggles.
“Holy Crap. I am Monk. That’s awful.”
Yeah, he is Monk-like. It is annoying. It is fun to watch someone that needs all of the pieces of the sandwich he is eating to line up exactly, but it NOT fun to be the wife of a man who actually requires that all the pieces of his sandwich line up correctly. There is a ratio involved in a bologna sandwich that shames me. I have to fold his socks. The hangers on his side of the closet all have to be the same color. He likes the bed made a certain way. If the sheets aren’t tucked just so the whole bed will need to be remade before we go to sleep that night. Adam doesn’t even like it if you are barefoot in the kitchen while you are cooking.
Ugh.
And, in fact, this is a person that I adore. I deal with it. I am not sure why it is okay, but I almost look forward to his bizarre needs. I am calmed by his need for order. I know what to expect from him. His standards rarely change and once I learned the ‘rules’ to making him happy, being married became a breeze.
Now, if only he would figure out the ‘rules’ to making me happy we would be far better offer.
Here’s a hint: I like shiny things. I do not have enough of them. Also – shoes. I need shoes.
At some point yesterday Adam skimmed past an episode of Monk. It was the first time he had ever seen Monk, so his reaction was very real. Watching Monk go on and on about this ‘perfect sandwich’ sent Adam in to a fit of giggles.
“Holy Crap. I am Monk. That’s awful.”
Yeah, he is Monk-like. It is annoying. It is fun to watch someone that needs all of the pieces of the sandwich he is eating to line up exactly, but it NOT fun to be the wife of a man who actually requires that all the pieces of his sandwich line up correctly. There is a ratio involved in a bologna sandwich that shames me. I have to fold his socks. The hangers on his side of the closet all have to be the same color. He likes the bed made a certain way. If the sheets aren’t tucked just so the whole bed will need to be remade before we go to sleep that night. Adam doesn’t even like it if you are barefoot in the kitchen while you are cooking.
Ugh.
And, in fact, this is a person that I adore. I deal with it. I am not sure why it is okay, but I almost look forward to his bizarre needs. I am calmed by his need for order. I know what to expect from him. His standards rarely change and once I learned the ‘rules’ to making him happy, being married became a breeze.
Now, if only he would figure out the ‘rules’ to making me happy we would be far better offer.
Here’s a hint: I like shiny things. I do not have enough of them. Also – shoes. I need shoes.
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