Every marriage has points of frustration. It’s part and parcel of two entirely disparate people living together and I’m convinced, to some extent, with the knowledge that THIS WILL NEVER END. There’s no finding another roommate when this lease runs out. And even though people get divorced for all sorts of reasons, listing “Matt leaves five pairs of shoes immediately inside the front door and I almost die when I step into the house” as a formal grievance in court just doesn’t seem to hold much water.
I doubt I’d get custody of the dog if that were my strongest argument against our marriage, is what I’m saying.
But there are those Things that always generate rolled eyes and, depending on the prevailing hormones, something on the scale from loving exasperation to “I will wing this offending object at you with great force if I see you again within the next five minutes.”
The aforementioned shoe phenomenon is one such Thing in our house. I’m fairly certain that my tendency to leave dishes on the counter instead of just putting them in the dishwasher is another (correct me if I’m wrong, Matt), as is the fact that sometimes it’s a week between when a load of damp laundry moves from the washer to the dryer. I also tend to subsist on PopTarts (TM), microwave popcorn, and chicken ramen when other options seem like too much work.
Just last week Matt and I had a conversation about one of the other Things – the toilet paper roll. Now, there are several possible points of contention here (how many plys? quilted or no? under or over?) but we manage to live in remarkable toilet-paper harmony for the most part (two, yes quilted, and over, of course).
No, the bone of contention in our house is the replacement of the roll when one runs out. We have a handy roll-holder right there, and it seems to me that the logical thing to do is just change it and throw the empty cardboard roll away, which takes all of 3 seconds, but apparently this logic escapes my husband. Instead, he carefully balances the new roll on top of the empty one.
When I brought up this discrepancy in our standard operating procedures, Matt said, “It’s an endearing quirk. You like it.”
Okay, he might not have said those exact words. I don’t think he would ever say ‘endearing quirk’, but that’s what he meant, and I’m a writer, which means I’m allowed to embellish the truth for my own purposes!
But that’s not the point. The point is that today I was graced with another full roll of Quilted Northern balanced on top of an empty tube, and I smiled and shook my head and realized that, darn it, he’s right. I really don’t mind, and it’s sort of cute.
If that’s not love, I don’t know what is. :)