Keep an eye on your shoes, Fish.
Fish has this thing where he doesn’t like to be nagged. Which is totally cool, I get it. I mean, I hate having to remind a grown man of simple everyday responsibilities that any grown adult would know to do without needing another grown adult to remind him… so we’re in the same boat there. Because of this, since we moved into the new house last year, there have been a couple of things I mentioned once or twice and then let go, because the fact that I even had to mention these things made me very mildly insane.
Like, for instance… the garage door.
See, for some reason I can’t understand, Fish doesn’t like putting down the garage door when he comes home from work. There’s no reason not to like putting it down. I mean, it’s not colonial times. You don’t need a team of Amish men to raise and lower the garage door. You push a button. One tap, and boom – the garage door magically goes down. Most of the time, you don’t even break a sweat. But still, for some reason, he likes leaving it wide open. I don’t know, maybe it’s because we live in the country, and the country is Safe. Whatever. So, every night, I would go out to the garage, call in my team of Amish – oh, wait, no – push the button and close the garage door.
Then, eventually, the fact that he couldn’t handle this one little responsibility made me insane and I stopped doing it. So there. We’ll get raped and murdered in our beds and then we’ll see who was right! Ha!
(Look, there’s being right, and there’s being rational, and sometimes you just can’t do both. Those of you with husbands know exactly what I’m talking about. You know you do.)
Well, long story short, no rapes, murders, arson or theft. Yay! Fish wins on that count… so far. Grumble, grumble. However, we were subject to a home invasion of the rodent kind. Chipmunks, to be exact. See, the thing about wild animals is that the garbage we keep in the garage until garbage day isn’t garbage to them. To them, it’s the freakin’ Golden Corral. All they have to do is nibble through a thin plastic barrier and HOLY COW!!! Egg shells! Sandwich crusts! Coffee grinds! They call all their friends in using their special chipmunk sonar – “Hey, guys! New restaurant in town! Open all night, no waiting!” And once they’d had their fill of the fine gastronomic offerings, they pooped in Fish’s shoes, which I found appropriately karmic, and they nibbled holes in a pair of (thankfully) old, crappy winter coats Fish didn’t feel like bringing in even though I’d asked him to a number of times…
Breathe in. Breathe out.
So, I got a kitten. I’m filling her with carbs and making her watch rodent documentaries on Animal Planet. She’ll be buffed up and ready to mouse/chipmunk in about three months. Which would have been fine, if Fish had just learned his lesson and started shutting the damn garage door. I think from his perspective it was like, “Well, damn. They already pooped in my shoes. Can’t get any worse than that, right?”
Oh, sure it can. Like if, for instance, the cute little shoe-pooping but relatively harmless chipmunks get run out of their prime nightspot by raccoons. And I’m not talking little itty bitty baby raccoons who are cute and don’t have rabies. I’m talking upstate New York farm country raccoons. Raccoons that mean business. Raccoons with names like Ol’ One Eye and Yeah, I Ate Your Dog. Apparently, our little rodent Golden Corral made it into the raccoon Zagat Guide, and the next thing you know, Fish goes into the garage to find four tremendous raccoons tearing into our garbage. So, he chases them out with a shovel and then – ta da! – finally closes the garage door.
Except one didn’t get out. One got left behind… we’ll just call him Coonzilla. So Coonzilla spent the night tearing the hell out of our garage, knocking extra siding sheets out of the rafters where they had been safely stowed, ripping the exposed insulation around the door to little dangly cotton candy-looking shreds, and stomping out small Japanese towns. On the bright side, he located some things I’d thought were lost. I went out there the next morning and was like, “Hey! What’s that broken thing in the corner? Oh, THAT’s where my ceramic fruit bowl was!” I’ll admit, it was a bittersweet discovery.
So, for the past few nights, Fish has finally started closing the garage door. Of course, because the raccoon infestation was judged by an impartial panel (all the wives of the world) to be completely and totally Fish’s fault, it was decided that he should clean up Coonzilla’s carnage. And he agreed to that, and all was well.
The problem is, he just hasn’t done it yet. Which means I’m going to have to remind him, which just might make me insane.
Oooh… or, maybe, I’ll just put his shoes outside and let the raccoons poop in them. Because God forbid I nag…
Have a husband, totally understand. Does not improve with age or longer marriage. Does not get any worse just status quo. Yes, totally insane.
You don’t have to live in the country to get the cute little chipmunk invasions or the ‘coon. Lived for a time in a suburb north of Dayton OH, got all of above and squirrels and Mallard ducks checking out homes. Did not need a water feature in the yard for ducks, they just arrived and ate at the bird feeder with the squirrels and rabbits. Also rabbits ate all the lilies just for variety .
Ah, woodland critters. Yeah, my mom’s finally succeeded in her bid to live in the middle of the woods. No garage to worry about, but there are always the two cats to keep an eye on. They never stay out at night if it’s at all possible, especially since the male cat must think he’s the Superman of the cat world as he once tried to take on a huge honkin’ wild turkey. Thankfully my mother prevented the cat (aka Tub-meister) from flinging himself off the deck and onto the bird who dared to enter his territory. God forbid a moose (common to the area) should ever show up in the yard to challenge his supremacy.
There’s been clear evidence of other animals having visited her deck (trust me, you don’t want me to elaborate). She even installed a sensor light so when she comes home from work at night, she can avoid an encounter of the feral kind. Especially with skunks. The consequences are to stanky even to consider.
O, thank you God, that I am not the only woman on Earth who feels like she is going insane trying not to nag, even though her Sweet Babou cannot do one simple little …. okay, letting go now.
Sweet Babou has exactly two chores. He is to give the dog food/water and once a week take out the garbage. That’s it. The sum total of his domestic responsibilities. Today I called him at work to ask him why our dog had neither food nor water (as tho I were perplexed how this could have happened) and every week I have to “remind” him that garbage in the garbage cans upstairs will not walk downstairs and empty themselves into the kitchen trashcan. Thus, more than just the kitchen trash must be taken out. Every week I do this. Every week.
But I love him. So he lives.
You know, I had a feeling I wouldn’t be alone on this one…
Is it bad that I find your description of your pain highly amusing? Will it help if I add that yeah – You = Totally Right.
I have got to weigh in on this one. No, Lani my dear, you are so not alone. Motorcycle Man is notorious for this. He too is garage door imparied to the sad extent that he does not even have to LEAVE his car to do so. No, its not even the remote you hook onto your visor, no his car is equipped with an internal remote thingy (do you like the technospeak- lol) that he can preset in his car!!! I can’t tell you how many times…
Anyway, so we live in the suburbs. Low crime rate, nice neighbors. But still you have those thoughts, murder, theft, etc. So far – knock on wood – we have only had theft and in lovely karmic retribution it was his beloved golf clubs (dontcha love it!!) So you would think he’d would have learned. But no, still at times, I find in the morning that he has once again left us vulnerable. Maybe if I can can coax a chipmunk to befoul his shoes it may seal the deal!! LOL
Is it possible we’ve got a Pilot’s wife thing going on and we’re married to the same man?
I can’t help but giggle over this one, Lani. And if you feel like you’re going to hit Fish over the head with a frying pan, some very smart ladies I know used to suggest a light chardonnay.
(But maybe not if it’s in a box.)
Oooh, Caryle, good suggestion! I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe give him a little, too, because… you know… he’s the one getting hit.
Eileeen – you’re definitely on to something. I think it’s more like a science fiction hive mind thing. Like the Stepford Wives, but the complete opposite, because it’s men, and they’re completely incompetent in the home. They can hold down jobs and everything, they can figure out complicated algorithms and cure disease and run for president, but they can’t remember to push the stupid garage door button. So… there you go. And we still make less than them.
Grrrrrrrr…..
You are so totally not alone. I try not to twitch too badly when I walk in the back yard and see the pile of shingles waiting to be put on the garage roof. The shingles have been sitting there since (wait for it) 1998. I am NOT making this up. Although, in his defense, half of the garage roof did get shingled year before last.
I will not mention that last summer he decided to take down all of the trim in the house and cut it up and burn it. He was upset it had been painted. He then purchased new trim. The new trim looks very nice piled next to the stairs waiting (oh so patiently) to be put up.
For most things, I quit waiting and just give up and do it myself. However, I have an aversion to crawling around on my roof, and I can’t cut those 45 angles necessary for trim. I’ve tried. It’s not pretty.
But I am not nagging. Nope.
And this is why I’ll never get married.
Lani Sweetheart no you are not alone. I hate to tell you this but I have been married for 45 years and it is still the same old things that drive me insane. In fact Sheryl and I were talking about that tonight when I asked her if I Had suddenly lost patience with DH as he was doing things that were driving me insane and she said he has always done them and I had always been insane when he did. Good thing I am losing my memory. I did nag but it doesn’t do any good either. The frying pan might be the best suggestion.
Poop in Fish’s shoes…tee hee hee. Who says the gods don’t have a sense of humor?
See, Lani, this is where you need to take deep breathes while looking at that picture of Colin in the tub. Because he can make anything better.
But this just lends credence to my theory that all husbands are the same. They may look different on the outside (mine, for example is 5’8″ and balding with a goatee) but inside they are all the same. And it drives me absolutely batshit. I continually tell my husband how lucky he is I haven’t killed him yet. I’m not sure he really appreciates how true that statement is…
Melissa, I’m with you.
ummmm…. now this could be awkward, but, am I Fish? Orrrr do you and my Juan compare notes about garage/mouse/chipmunk issues? From personal experience, and an experience the Juan will never, really never, forget… do you know what those mice will do? Let me tell you, they will get in your Jeep, car, whatever, and they will happily spend an entire night eating thru the pizza take home box you left in the car because you were carrying in a baby or their crap and maybe left the pizza box on the floor of the backseat, anyway, the next day the Juan will ask about the pizza, go to the Jeep and open the box without looking and grab a piece of pie to eat on the way in from the garage with the door open, while carrying in the pizza and after splatting it down on the counter notice the hole in the top and stop chewing to start spitting… all because the door to the garage was left open, in what a more positive person might call a neighborly fashion – you know so people know you are home if they want to say “Hi” to the new girl, who is left trapped at home with 3 squalling boys and no adults to talk to. Whatever. This was years ago, and the plague was obviously eradicated, because the Juan is still here, telling me to CLOSE THE GARAGE DOOR!
Oh, Lani, this had me fizzing with laughter. I sympathise with you heartily, my dear. God bless my husband, but he does like to keep me trailing after him doing things like shutting the doors. Thankfully, we haven’t been plagued by chippies or raccoons … yet.
Mine has a tendency to leave the garage door open also. You would think he would be a little more conscientious about it since he got the new ‘Vette, but now I think he just wants to show the car off to the neighbors. “Hey, look what I got” sort of thing. Which makes me worried that the wrong sort of person will get the wrong sort of idea and next thing I know they will be breaking into my house because, well, we can afford a VETTE, we must have REALLY expensive stuff in the house! And then when they realize that my computer is over 6 years old and the TV is at least that old and nothing else in the house is worth crap they will trash my house in anger and then go back into the garage and steal all the bikes, which is what they were going to do in the first place…
(sigh) Mildy insane? Yeah. You could say that!
plastic tub…
Thanks for the compliment no one has ever told me that before!!…