As I’ve explained before, Mr. Everything is named “Mr. Everything” because he is good at everything, can fix everything and knows everything. The name does not, however, mean that he is perfect. He has tried to make it mean that. When I fuss or get irritated, he says, “But I’m your Everything. Remember?” Yeah, whatever.
I love him, but he is most certainly not perfect. From the beginning of time, he has done little things to irritate me. Sadly, I don’t know if he does them on purpose or if he is just that quirky. No matter, they irritate me just the same.
We dated for almost 5 years. I thought I knew everything there was to know about the man before we got married. Boy, was I wrong.
On the honeymoon, he neatly rolled our dirty clothes to get them back in the suitcases. My suitcase ended up looking empty because of the efficient job he did repacking my clothes. It was certainly neater than how the clothes had traveled when they were clean. That was a sign of things to come.
A day after we got home from our honeymoon, I discovered the habit that would be the bane of my existence to this very day. The man folded his dirty clothes. I am not kidding. He neatly folded his shirts, pants and underwear to put them in the hamper. When we were first married, I ever-so-sweetly asked him not to do that, and I quote, “If you don’t stop folding your dirty clothes, I’m going to scream! If you have time to fold, I have some clean clothes I can give you!!!” It didn’t work. He continued folding. To this day, he folds his dirty clothes. He says it makes more room in the hamper. I say it just allows more clothes to be in there for me to have to wash. He has finally quit folding his dirty underwear, so I guess I’ve made some progress. Give me another 20 years, and I’ll break him of this habit (or die trying).
I did break him of rearranging the cans in the pantry. He would move them so they were all facing forward. It wasn’t that I minded this exactly, because it did make finding what I needed easier. However, that Julia Roberts movie, “Sleeping with the Enemy,” had just come out. It was pretty creepy, and I did not want a sequel to take place in my house. Over time, I got him to adapt to my way of organizing the pantry. We’ll just call it the "Artsy Method."
I got new canisters for Christmas this year, and I think he’s trying to kill me with them. They are made so they can sit up with the lids on top or sit at an angle with the lids on the side. I said they should sit up with the lids on top. He said they should sit at an angle. He also said they should sit out on the counter, but I reminded him that his juicer that we never use was already taking up my precious counter space. I cleaned out the pantry and made room for them, so he gave up the counter/closet battle. However, he wouldn’t give up on the tilted sideways struggle.
Mr. Everything said the canisters should sit sideways so I could just scoop out what I needed right there in the pantry. I said he must not be the one who swept the floor. I’m pretty sure I would have sugar and flour all over the place if I tried to do that. I said we would carry the canisters to the counter to scoop the ingredients. Thus, the lids-up method made the most sense. He disagreed. I reminded him that, since I did 66.6% of the cooking, the kitchen belonged to me. He disagreed. I told him that my happiness overruled his disagreement. He disagreed. (He really does need to work on that whole “last word” thing. I, on the other hand, know that I’m right. Maybe I’ll go tell him that right now.)
Anyway, this morning, I opened the pantry to get the sugar canister out so I could put sugar in my coffee, and, you guessed it…I found the sugar tilted to the side. I wonder how many years it will take to break him of that. Come to think of it, it might be easier just to break the canisters. -Al