Some days, I feel that the only thing I do is nag. Naggity, nag, nag, nag. Seriously. What else is their in life?
I hate nagging.
My husband is kind enough to take my nagging most of the time. However, he unwittingly brings it on himself.
How? How could such a paragon of virtue open himself up to the tortured ranting of a woman with too much on her plate?
Lack of peripheral vision.
He can only see what is in front of him, not what is going on around him. Great when you do the job that he does. Bad when it comes to helping me out in the house.
We had an agreement when I turned this blogging/writing/child raising thing into a full-time gig last summer. He would help out in the house. The bad thing is? He has no idea how. I blame that on his mother. He can’t see what to do. So, when I tell him “honey, I really you need to unload the dishwasher” for the umpteenth time, I really feel like screaming “listen here jackass, I don’t give a damn how thrilling the latest economy news/facebook/twitter/news is, get off your fucking keister so I can clean the damn kitchen”.
Today, we had a talk. I like to call it a “come to Jesus” meeting. I told him that I was quitting. The only thing I was going to do was to turn myself into a version of me that is somewhere between June Cleaver and a Stepford Wife. Of course, he was completely against the idea. But what really bugs me about that? He gets so freaking melodramatic. “I know I have to change. I haven’t done a good job.”
I really just wanna say, “you know, if you would just do things we agreed to on the list, you wouldn’t be saying that, I wouldn’t be nagging the ever loving shit out of you and life would be all “kittens and lollipops” or some hippie BS like that.
So, that’s where I am. Feeling like the royal bitch queen….it’s not a good feeling to have.
