Sometimes life is just a he-said, she-said. Sometimes I don’t think anybody is listening at all. I hear so much fighting about politics and religion and schools and whether or not to listen to a stupid speech and it just goes on and on ad nauseum. Sometimes I think we engage our mouths without letting the “reason” section of our brain catch up to what we’re considering saying out loud. Other times we simply don’t pay attention to one another in the simplest of ways.
That sort of happened to me the other day. Ya’ll (all 6 of you) know how I just ’bout adore Devoted Spouse and how I’ve gone on and on forever about how he’s taken such good care of me all throughout these many long months of me trying to get my strength back from my accident. Well, turns out he’s got a fault — and it’s one of those teeny, tiny, little picayune, ridiculous faults that we all suffer from at one time or another. But it’s driving me quite crazy.
He cannot remember to turn off the light in the bedroom closet. That’s it. That’s what is about to drive me over the edge of insanity and take him with me. It is so irritating for someone who doesn’t sleep well to finally get to sleep, only to be awakened in a couple of hours as she tries to rearrange to get comfortable and is awakened by the light peeking out from under the door of the master bedroom closet. It’s like lightning — it lights up the whole room. It wakes me up thoroughly, because once I notice it’s on I have to get my sorry, hurting body out of bed, cross the room, and turn off the silly light switch, then limp back into bed and try to get there before EmmaLou takes my warm spot. Then guess who is wide awake?
Last night I sent him to the guest room because I was truly hurting and didn’t want either his flailing arms or the cumbersome body of EmmaLou to accidentally bump into me during the night — no, that bed was going to be mine — all mine. I got into bed; I got somewhat comfortable, I read for a few minutes, realized I was truly tired and turned off the light only to notice that #%$# closet light was still on.
I got up from bed and limped to the guest room and found Devoted Spouse in the guest bed reading with EmmaLou curled up by his side. I walked over to him and told him that it pained me to do this considering how wonderful he has been to me the last 9 months, but I was being forced to take action. He sheepishly looked up at me and said, “I left the light on again, didn’t I?” I agreed that he had, indeed, done that terrible thing. But here was the kicker. He was going to be punished the next time he left that light on. He looked at me funny like I was just making a joke. I’m not making a joke. Sometimes we have to learn lessons the hard way.
I’m going to the store tomorrow and buy some wax – the kind you heat up and then put on your legs and when it just cools you take a strip of cloth and lay it over the wax and then RIIIIIPPPP off the hair on your legs. It hurts twenty seven thousand times more than an Epilady ever did. I have informed Devoted Spouse (who has extremely hairy legs like a gorilla) that will be his punishment if he does this again. He’s getting a leg waxed – just partially – just enough so the guys at church will look at him when he’s wearing shorts and wonder what’s up. Then he’ll have to explain what he’s done.
I’m not kidding – if the wax doesn’t do the trick, I’m getting the tweezers – the rusty ones.
Maybe the closet needs one of those clapper lights instead. Nah, I’m looking forward to the waxing session.