Just a taste of what it is like to be married to me...
because if I gave you an entire spoonful you'd gag.
We all know that I am a bit odd, in a good way of course, but still, painfully odd. And that I like things a certain way and things in a certain place. We also have discussed how repetitive noises make me want to kill myself and that sometimes I say things before I consider weather or not they are nice.
That being said, picture it, Ryan's car on a Tuesday afternoon, pouring rain. I had just been granted a gift from the hair frizz fairy, aka I got into the car just before the rain started, and we were on our way. As we drove along, the rain started to get stronger and stronger until it was like someone pouring cups of water on the windshield. Ryan of course has the windshield wipers on as fast as they will go so he doesn't drive into a ditch and the rain is so loud (a sound I actually quite enjoy) that I don't hear the wipers clicking and swishing.
Well, after a few miles the rain begins to lighten up and finally keeps pace at a nice mist, only Ryan doesn't turn down the wiper speed. I give him a moment, thinking that the noise will bother him and he will turn it down, but he doesn't. A few more minutes and I can't even concentrate on our conversation because all I hear are the wiper blades clicking and swishing over and over.
Soon I can feel myself giving him a dirty look, glaring at the little control on his steering wheel, willing him to turn it off and stop the CLICKING AND SWISHING but he doesn't respond. He just carries on like nothing is wrong, like I'm not breaking out in a rash over the sound and the unnecessary wiping.
Finally I snap. I can no longer hold it in. I calmly look at him.
Me: "Doesn't it bother you to have your wipers on so fast when it is hardly raining?"
Him: "No, but it obviously bothers you or you wouldn't have said anything."
He turns them off and gives me a look like he going to gag from the spoonful of OCD I just shoved down his throat
Me: "Well you don't have to turn them off, I mean if you like it then you can keep them on."
Him: "Why would I keep them on now, knowing it bothers you?"
Me: "Because now I feel guilty and I want you to have them on to make myself feel better."
The stare continues
Me: "Well, I'm not surprised it doesn't bother you, you who can walk around after a shower with DRIPS OF WATER ON YOUR BACK, just rolling down your skin like nails on a chalkboard, you who can wear two different socks at the same time, you who is not bothered by your sleeves being smashed up in your sweatshirt! Just thinking about these things makes my skin crawl."
And the stare continues
We all know that I am a bit odd, in a good way of course, but still, painfully odd. And that I like things a certain way and things in a certain place. We also have discussed how repetitive noises make me want to kill myself and that sometimes I say things before I consider weather or not they are nice.
That being said, picture it, Ryan's car on a Tuesday afternoon, pouring rain. I had just been granted a gift from the hair frizz fairy, aka I got into the car just before the rain started, and we were on our way. As we drove along, the rain started to get stronger and stronger until it was like someone pouring cups of water on the windshield. Ryan of course has the windshield wipers on as fast as they will go so he doesn't drive into a ditch and the rain is so loud (a sound I actually quite enjoy) that I don't hear the wipers clicking and swishing.
Well, after a few miles the rain begins to lighten up and finally keeps pace at a nice mist, only Ryan doesn't turn down the wiper speed. I give him a moment, thinking that the noise will bother him and he will turn it down, but he doesn't. A few more minutes and I can't even concentrate on our conversation because all I hear are the wiper blades clicking and swishing over and over.
Soon I can feel myself giving him a dirty look, glaring at the little control on his steering wheel, willing him to turn it off and stop the CLICKING AND SWISHING but he doesn't respond. He just carries on like nothing is wrong, like I'm not breaking out in a rash over the sound and the unnecessary wiping.
Finally I snap. I can no longer hold it in. I calmly look at him.
Me: "Doesn't it bother you to have your wipers on so fast when it is hardly raining?"
Him: "No, but it obviously bothers you or you wouldn't have said anything."
He turns them off and gives me a look like he going to gag from the spoonful of OCD I just shoved down his throat
Me: "Well you don't have to turn them off, I mean if you like it then you can keep them on."
Him: "Why would I keep them on now, knowing it bothers you?"
Me: "Because now I feel guilty and I want you to have them on to make myself feel better."
The stare continues
Me: "Well, I'm not surprised it doesn't bother you, you who can walk around after a shower with DRIPS OF WATER ON YOUR BACK, just rolling down your skin like nails on a chalkboard, you who can wear two different socks at the same time, you who is not bothered by your sleeves being smashed up in your sweatshirt! Just thinking about these things makes my skin crawl."
And the stare continues
and that stare will continue for years and years to come
ReplyDelete