In the world of a real marriage, it must be admitted that although we love each other like crazy, we sort of make each other crazy sometimes, too. It's actually even a little bit fun. After all, our quirks and minuscule inconsistencies are part of that certain "je ne sais quoi" that gives life a little extra "spicy sizzle".
Truly, if I always played the part of the perfectly pleasing wife, it would be really boring around here. Mr. Fantastic loves me with an everlasting love. He is wonderful, and I love him with great big starry adoring eyes. But occasionally he is fun to bother a little bit. Just a tad. A smidgen. When I succeed at the bothering, he probably imagines how fun it would be to bounce me through some football uprights. Or not. I don't know, because he doesn't really say.
Truth be told, he does the same to me. For instance, he rips bags open in the middle like a cave man, when they clearly have a resealable end. He has also been known to pilfer thirty-eight or so of our coffee cups to the office, one at a time, and return them all at the same time in a cardboard box. It's like coffee cup Christmas/Happy Extra Load of Dishes Day when they are returned. I roll my eyes, we both laugh it off, and then I wonder how much time will pass before I am this bothersome to him. Because it's bound to happen eventually.
Bothering is a sign of true love, people. You can't take marriage too seriously all the time or you'll go crazy. And that would be truly bothersome, don't you think?
Here are 8 things I do to bother my husband:
8. Borrowing his keys and then handing him my purse when he asks for them back. It starts with me saying, "Oh, you need your keys? Here, babe, they're somewhere in my purse." He stares at me frozen, then grunts a little because looking for anything in my purse is like trying to find a rock in the Grand Canyon. But I know he likes a challenge in his day. It's like playing that claw game at the arcade, and he always finds them in the end. He wins!
7. Not "getting" sports. I was a college athlete, so it surprised Mr. Fantastic when I told him I didn't actually care how the college football championship teams are chosen. I think it may have shocked him when I gently suggested that his undying loyalty to the Dallas Cowboys and the Texas Rangers was (perhaps) a recipe for disappointment. I continue to stun him with my fair-weather-fan-status regarding all UCLA athletics. While I can't name a single player on any of their teams, I'm super happy when they win, and I barely notice when they lose. Usually, when he tells me about his teams, I try to just smile and nod if he smiles, or scowl and shake my head if he scowls. Then I text him UCLA's winning scores with lots of emoticons, because it's fun to bother him.
6. Only buying kid-oriented cereal. I don't know how this happens, but it does. And it proves a man can go to work, earn a decent paycheck, and still only have Berry Berry Kix, Organic Peanut Butter Puffs, and Puffins to choose from at 7am. Poor guy. I actually feel a little bad that this is such a common problem in our house. But it does make me a hero when I roll in from the grocery with his favorites later that day. So, maybe it's kind of strategic!
5. Singing the wrong song lyrics. Mr. Fantastic is a music person. He plays multiple instruments. He also has the best memory of any person I have ever met. He once memorized the entire book of Colossians just for fun. I am neither musical nor memorize-Colossians-smart, and he often catches me singing the wrong song lyrics with brazen confidence. I think he thought it was cute for a few years, but now it's just unfathomable to him. He doesn't understand the mental laziness that causes a person to botch the words to the Official Frozen Anthem of 2014. I don't know, "the storm never bothered me anyway" works just as well as "the cold never bothered me anyway", doesn't it???
4. Cook squash for dinner. Mr. Fantastic eats a wide array of foods, but there are some things he would rather I didn't put in the rotation. Squash is on that list. When I cook it, the kids gag and he squirms but eats it anyways because that's fatherhood. However, I really like squash, and our vegetable delivery service brings it regularly, so, bon appetit, baby! (Besides, there's a box of Berry Berry Kix in the pantry that he can eat later.)
3. Give him directions that sound more like a description of the city. Where is our daughter's ballet studio? Do you know where Phil's Ice House is- not the one that is right over here, but the older one that is down on that street that goes past Bartlett's? The studio is just down from there, towards Hey Cupcake, but not all the way to the area that feels like you're getting close to the UT campus. It's next to a shoe store. Look for the shoe store sign- it's kind of blue...I think. What? That's not good directions? Yes, it is. Just ask all my friends, they'll totally understand.
2. Park my car so close to his in the driveway that he has to climb in through the passenger side. In all honesty, I don't do this on purpose. It's what happens when you live in Los Angeles for years, parking on the street day after day at UCLA. I got really good at fitting a car into a tight spot. (Not that our driveway is a tight spot, but whatever.) Maybe I'm just lousy at parking. After all, I did once back into his car in our own driveway- but I blame temporary insanity brought on by pregnancy hormones for that one. So, that might technically be his fault.
1. Steal the covers. Apparently, I do it all. the. time. While snoozing away, I grab and roll, creating a heavenly cocoon-like comforter heaven around myself. Then he wakes up freezing cold and can't get me to budge. (Have I mentioned I am his favorite person in the whole wide world? The man is a saint for loving a comforter bandit.) I'm thinking since we have a few more years before the hot flashes kick in, I should probably just get him an extra comforter. Or not. Maybe he likes to give me the covers- because, seriously, sainthood.