After reading a blog by Harsh Reality on questions you should never ask your husband, it got me thinking.
Insanity offers a needed break, from husbands!
Men are obsessed with “their” stuff.
My husband snaps at me every time I hit a pothole with his car. My car must be the roust -a- bout. As we cruise down our driveway, at a whopping 12 miles an hour, he forgets to watch for the potholes. When I show my frustration, he giggles. What? Is his 2015 blue cruze worth more than my 2015 white cruze?
It’s our money, until I spend $1 more than planned.
Your money, our money -please, it’s all his money. I talk with lots of women who are responsible for the family cash flow. Truthfully, my husband does an amazing job, so I don’t need to.
However – it ends there! He loves to read me the riot act if I go one dollar over, while he’s ordering the latest technical gadget behind my back. No wonder he’s always telling me we’re broke – he’s already spent it!
Honey, did you notice what I did today?
By the time he gets home from work, I may have mowed the lawn, hauled off the trash, and polished the wood floor. Rarely, will he notice. On those occasions I am not home; he will surprise me by fixing brats (nothing else, mind you) for dinner and cleaning the kitchen.
He waits, long-suffering, until he can’t stand it. “Did you notice I cleaned the dishes?”
The eyes…beware! Ego’s on the loose.
At home, my husband rarely does anything without discussing it with me. This isn’t because he lacks confidence -he is just that type of man.
It all changes once we go out in public, and his reputation is on the line. He begged me for weeks to be the band booster treasurer. I knew it wouldn’t be a good idea, so I resisted. You see; he is the president. Oh yeah, bad news!
If he is discussing an issue with the Band Director -don’t speak Dee! Right! Like I can ever keep my mouth shut. I don’t know what happens, but suddenly the mouth is open and words come pouring out.
That’s when I get the eyes. Those brows press together, and with head bent, he will turn toward me. Okay -I shut up already! Leave me be!
Problem is, now I’m mad. How can I let his disrespect toward me go unpunished? So what if I wait until everyone else has left -I still let him have it!
It’s simple -just do as I tell you! Please!
I am a stickler about every detail I can control in keeping our 14-year-old girls safe. I understand the whole thing about not having control, but I still want to do my best. I am always lecturing them with every detail about safety.
My husband believes the, “everything will be fine. Their fine!” rule.
Each time he takes them to a game, school, friends, the movies -whatever, I ask, “please make sure they get in. Don’t drive away without knowing they are safely in the hands of another.”
A week later, the girls are laughing about how dad dropped them off at the corner, and left them for an hour, alone in the rain. Okay, I’m kidding. He isn’t that bad – but he never stays once he drops them somewhere. Why? Why can’t he just make me happy?
He’s wounded! Great!
When I broke my ankle a year ago, my husband left me alone in a hotel room with three dogs, on the second floor, for five hours. (Guess how many times they wanted to go outside) He refused to take me to the hospital, because I didn’t bruise. (this meant it wasn’t broken)
Three months later, my rheumatologist insisted upon x-rays. Guess what? Yep, it was broken. I’ve already been walking on it for two and a half months, because I had a family to take care of.
Recently, my husband was building an extension on his workshop for storage. He fell. No, I didn’t laugh. Really! It scared me. You know; I love the man.
So, he was life-lighted to the hospital. After all, he could have broken his back.
It ended up being a couple of broken ribs and a broken sternum. He was lucky. Our family was lucky. He is the rock that is sealed by our glue. Two and a half weeks later, he still can’t sleep in our bed -come on! Is he trying to tell me something?
Really, he comes to bed about every other night, and is snoring within seconds. Fifteen minutes later, he’s up apologizing to me. “It just hurts so bad, I can’t sleep.” Then he goes back to his leather recliner, with a fan blowing and his scratch stick on the table next to him. I give up! The imprint of his body will be forever molded into the recliner. Poor guy!
He gets this one from his father -When speaking, every two to three-word sentences, must be repeated 3 times.
It makes me want to tape his mouth shut. Once was enough, I can even handle the second one, but by the time that third one starts oozing from his mouth…well, I have finally reached my insanity.
Since I have reached my breaking point, this is my end. What do you think I’m thinking? I think…I think…I think…Kids, what is the stickiest tape in the world -get it for me!