It is no secret that I "owned" these confessions as mine. Rather than continuing to encourage our young guest in his quest to defend his wronged manhood (and as the wife of a black man from Detroit, I know how very stubborn and single focused they can get), I offer the original confessions to the new audience. But, as all of you who read my other blog(s) know, I temper these with the pieces on my love of my husbands cooking ability...or his waking me up with coffee on our 10th wedding anniversay..or his love and attention for our daughter...or the way he made me laugh this morning when he drove by me as I walked back from dropping Emily off and leaned out the window to make a rather salacious comment.
Maybe the scratches on the top of car weren't caused by the car wash. Maybe they were caused by your daughter cheerfully clearing the car off with the steel tipped snow shovel. Maybe.
I know that you do loads of your own laundry when I'm not home. I know that you ignore the stack of the family laundry and wash your own personal load. I know this cause I find them in the dryer, and there is no coincidence large enough to convince me that this is "just what you happened to throw in". Especially as it has happened repeatedly for 15 years. This makes me unreasonably mad. That's why I leave all your clothes for the end, sometimes.
Your electronic organizer? The one you loved in 1998? Yeah. That didn't fall out of your car and get run over by your tire. I washed and dried it in the laundry , then tried to get you to think you'd done it by wedging it under your tire, in the rain.
I always spend more than I've told you I've spent. ALWAYS. No one gets this many shoes for what you think I've spent. That's the beauty of my own checking account.
I know where your belt, glasses or wallet are. I just think it's funny to watch you run around like a crazy person looking for them.
I WANT you to go out with your friends. Please. Get out of the house. Plus you always come home awfully grateful for what you have at home after listening to your friends bitch and moan about their wives.
When I say, "I don't care", sometimes I don't care. Sometime I do. Listen for the tone. It's been 15 years, it shouldn't be this hard to figure out.
When you go out of town, I play video games like a maniac. I also leave the bathroom door open when I pee, cause you aren't there to get all freaked out. And I don't do the dishes until right before you come home. Basically, chaos reigns.
I'm not really sleeping when I bump you at night. You're snoring Loudly and I have got to do something to stop the noise.
Your mother and I talk about you. When you are being a shit, I call her and she convinces me to stay married to you. You don't know how much you owe to your mother. Seriously.
Oh yeah, I hear her calling my name. But it's 2 a.m. and you’re awake anyway.
I was going to leave my hair in the tub drain. You’re right. But I’ll die defending that I wasn’t.
Your chili isn' that good. Really. I’ve just never had the heart to tell you. Your coffee isn't either.
I hate dancehall music. I just don’t get the appeal for you. But I have smiled as you have played it for a long ass time.
I love that you have more colognes than I do. I love that the Macy’s mens cologne woman knows your first name.
Yes, I washed the chicken. I have been rinsing the chicken for 15 years. You do not have to ask me EVERY TIME if I have washed the god damn chicken. If my plan were to give you salmonella, it would have happened a long time ago.
I know how much you detest Chinese Art Cinema. So it makes me love you more when you sit through three-hour movies in subtitles next to me, whilst I weep uncontrollably at the beauty of the story. And yes, I DID know that “Farewell My Concubine” was going to be three hours long. I just knew if I told you that, you wouldn’t come.
I will never tell you what my girlfriends and I really talk about. You’re my husband, but they are my girlfriends. Iron Curtain, Baby. And yes, we talk about you. And they know EVERYTHING.
Sometimes you only have to make me laugh to change my mood. It is not a strategy you use enough. Ditto for the shoulder massage. You’d get a hell of a lot more if you took note of this.
I know you didn’t read this card you gave me. You just picked the first one you came to that said “To my wife”. That’s why I quiz you on the sentiment behind the words on the card. To see you squirm.