Morning all, Young Master Duke is outside keeping an eye on the kids at the football field. I’m a little gassy, and my Husband is talking to himself again. I swear, he has a mouth that can out-talk a 3 year old.
We are currently in a cease fire situation. I’m grumpy enough that I’m about to pitch a fit. It’s not good. Last night, I tried to lay down, but the air was trying to kill me again. So, I coughed. A lot. It woke him up. It happens. He proceeded to get up growling, and then talked the rest of the night.
I took more allergy medicine, and finally went to sleep. I woke to him talking to himself still, and proceeded to the necessary. The funny thing is, he shuts up when I cross in front of his table, and then talks louder when the door to the restroom closes.
Snort. I’m guilty as well. I was raised on elbow macaroni. I hate it. It’s the band of nasty that ruins my universe. I growl when I am served elbow macaroni. Guess who serves it when he makes hot-dish? My beloved bought a crap ton of it when we were separated. I growl. Smoke rises from my ears. I completely and totally get nauseated. I work very hard to be silent, but then again…
I love rice. I bought a crap ton of it when we were separated. You get the drift. He hates it.
I type incessantly. The sound of the keyboard clacking drives him insane. I have many many keyboards, some of them silent. I need the clacking. I even have a keyboard designed to clack as loudly as possible.
He obsesses. When the tabs came for the car, I accidentally got one of them stuck on the paper. I made the mistake of telling him about it. 57 texts of obsession later, I ended up spending half an hour with some super glue, the car, and swear words fixing it. 29.5 minutes of that half hour were spent out there so he would calm the heck down, thinking that I was spending that time smoothing the tab down.
He likes ripple chips. The flavorless chips that have no business in the universe. Their flavor is salt. That’s it. I do buy him those chips, but… when mine run out, I finish his.
Wheat makes me gassy. IE, most foods with wheat give me gas. It can be crippling pain, down to silent but deadly. We eat exclusively wheat because of his dietary preferences. I crop dust him, when I bend down to attach Duke’s tie out to his collar.
He makes me coffee. I run the garbage bins to the curb. He does the dishes. When he can’t, I do them. He will wash my clothes, when he can’t I wash his. He can’t drive, I do all the driving.
Even though we drive each other absolutely bat-sheet crazy, we do care. That’s the important part. It’s also the part missing in almost every romance I have ever read. It’s the day to day beyond the lust. Chuckle, lust hasn’t been a part of our world in years and years. Oh well.
Hugs my friends, hugs. -L
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