Domestic Dumbass
My husband can do many things well. He is an excellent carpenter; he can build a house from the ground up, and he can paint, tile, and remodel anything I request. He has a photographic memory (especially during arguments) and never ceases to amaze me with the insane amount of information in his head when we’re playing trivia. In his own way, he is really, seriously freakishly smart.
So, why is it that he can be such a f*cking moron?
Bill is totally unable to grasp the concept of turning out a light. I’m not talking about one light here and there - that wouldn’t be worth bitching about. I’m talking about every light in the whole house.
It’s baffling.
When he walks through the house, it’s like he’s auditioning for a one-man Broadway show—every light in every room blazes on, no matter the time of day. Noon? Sun streaming through the windows? It doesn’t matter; the lights must go on. When I point it out, he waves a dismissive hand and mutters, “Okay.”
I’m this close to declaring myself sole ruler of our home’s electricity (holds up index finger and thumb with a tiny space in between).
I wish I could say that’s where the weird behavior ends, but oh no—it’s only the beginning. Bill has a full-blown door obsession. If I so much as step onto the lanai to water the plants, I’m required to slide the door open a sliver and squeeze my body through like a cat burglar. Heaven forbid if I don’t shut it immediately behind me. Why? Because, according to him, “Leaving the door open is wasting electricity.” And leaving on 27 lights isn’t?
Since I’m on a roll, I’ll also mention how clueless he is when it comes to how anything operates in our house. It takes him about 10 minutes to figure out how to turn on our simple Kenmore dishwasher. Same with the washer. I was making scrambled eggs the other day and asked him to hand me a spatula. I was presented with tongs. Really, Bill? How would that work, exactly?
Our dryer has only two buttons and is pretty self-explanatory. It also needs to be emptied occasionally by someone who isn’t me. The sheets to change the bed? They’re in the linen closet, darling.
You get the idea.
He once compared his cluelessness around the house to my lack of carpentry knowledge. He didn't agree that the two scenarios are entirely different, given that he lives here and I have never worked on one of his carpentry jobs ever. Duh.
But he can operate the toaster and makes me an English muffin for breakfast every morning. At least he’s good for something, and he did transform our front doors into something extraordinary last weekend so there’s that.