Anybody Want A Husband?

Oh my god he's making me nuts!

I just got home from running all those errands (ooh, and I got road-raged while I was out there! Some guy tried to cut me off in a parking lot and I didn't let him, and he honked and then he followed me! I wasn't sure he was following me until I pulled into Wendy's to get a soda but the drive-through line was too long and I didn't feel like parking and walking in just to get a soda when I was on my way to the grocery store anyway, so I just drove around and pulled back out again, and he did the same thing right behind me! Scary. I finally lost him by cutting through the liquor store parking lot on my way to Super 88. Phew!)

Anyway, so I just got home and while I was out he "cleaned up" the back hallway. Where I'd been working all this month. Which means that now the paint thinner, the 5F5, the gloves and rags and steel wool are all in the kitchen -- on the floor next to the basement door but not actually in the basement. Because this is how Johnny cleans things up. He moves everything to another place, then he sweeps the floor and leaves the pile, all the while making jokes about what a slob I am.

That, or he follows me around and offers to do whatever I am doing. If I let him and move on to something else, he follows me again.

Yes, Dear. Thank you, Dear. Now go away.

He didn't help me put away the groceries so much as stand over my shoulder asking what everything in the refrigerator was, and then he decided it was time to go through the cupboards to visit his canned fish (the anchovies and mackerel and such he likes to get in his Christmas stocking but very rarely ever eats).

Didn't you say you planned to mow the lawn today, Dear?

Well, he figures he'll wait for that until the sun goes down a piece (it is really hot, but he has a guitar lesson at 5:30 that is supposed to be an hour but always runs till sometime after eight) so he thinks he might's well go ahead and make some pasta salad. Boiling the big blue pot of water on the gas stove. Because it's just too hot to mow the lawn. Yeesh.

He's already announced that we'll have pork roast for dinner. (Did I mention that it's hot? And that he's giving a guitar lesson through the preparing-dinner hour?) And now he just marched in to show me a spaghetti sauce he found in the freezer that he thinks we'll have tomorrow. Canned mackerel and salad the night after that (yuck, not for me, thanks). I don't know when he thinks we'll eat the pasta salad...

I'm not sure if I can manage to accomplish anything Puritanical with Wee Jimmy on a tear like this. He'll sit down when Christine gets here for her lesson, but I make myself scarce when she arrives because she's thirteen and I don't want to make her shy to sing and play.

Besides, when she's here is the only time I ever fold the laundry. Hide in the bedroom, sit on the floor, watch a DVD of something Johnny would not abide (tonight it's The Queen -- a woman often referred to in this house as "that dozy old fuck") and fold, fold, fold my little heart out. I'm not sure, but I think the pile might be breeding...



If I get it all done, does that count?