Some of you are like, sleep cap?
I had to utilize Tim’s picture. He will, undoubtedly, not like that. BUT I tried to Google that shit, ending up with this.
Ethnic sleep cap
I know. What the hell? That’s horrible, and I need it. Immediately. I totally should have just went with it, making all the white people think my husband wears this to bed.
I digress to the point of institutionalization. Where was I? Oh, yes. The pillowcase. The brand new, beautiful, light blue, much sought after for the exact shade of blue in the drapes, incredibly luxurious, microfiber pillowcase that is NOW stained purplish-black. You can understand why my head exploded.
See. A 20 minute conversation prior to bedtime, rested my mind at ease my husband was taking the continued pillowcase debacle seriously. I should have known when he grabbed a hand towel to cover the beautiful, new linen… all would not end well. He flails and thrashes throughout the night, leaving linen damaged in his wake.
He’s a great person, just fucking hell on fancy pillowcases. Doesn’t give a rat’s ass about pillowcases, and their symbolic meaning regarding the state of my house.
Realization this morning? I will never have anything pretty around me for an extended period of time. I am surrounded by 4 (5 if you count the dog) males. My friend Amber’s home is sunshine and fucking rainbows, lined with pretty pink tulips. She has two daughters and is single.
My house is like Sierra Leone circa 2001. You can tell someone had good intentions (me), but the male species came along and fucked everything up, making it treacherous, filthy, and unpleasing to one’s eye… and there may be child soldiers involved. I hate to compare Tim to Charles Taylor, but he really doesn’t discourage the chaos until it affects him directly (i.e. flat screen smashed by toy car, candle wax clean up while I was out shopping).
There are mothers of boys that give up. Not me. No. I like pretty. It puts me in a better mood. I wear heels to the grocery store. If my household understood that fully, they would comply. I’d be much easier to deal with on a daily basis. Oh, My Little Fancies, I will have pretty linens and unmarred bathrooms with the toilet seats down, or I will tie up all four of those responsible and stuff them in the garage.
Some of the mothers out there are judging me. Homes are supposed to be relaxing and not showroom ready. People come to see you, not the state of your home. Blah, blah, blah. Listen to me very fucking carefully. I’m a much nicer person in unstained linens. I’m happier when Nerf bullets aren’t whizzing past my face and footballs aren’t knocking vases off countertops. You got that, Mama-Dirty-Floors? You got that? I’m happy for you that you can let it slide when your husband throws a white towel in with the black blouse you intended on wearing this weekend. I’m ecstatic for you, that you can let go of the fact every shoe owned is right in front of the door leading from the garage. I admire the fact, you don’t mind repeating yourself over and over and over and over to the point of sheer MADNESS. Dirty rugs, yay for you!
I am not that woman. I’m not. I like pretty. I like clean. I like organized. I like appreciated. I like it done after I say it once. I like everyone to just do what the fuck they are supposed to do when they are supposed to do it. The same routine for 10 years… you’d never know it. AND if that stupid dog barks at 2 AM again AT NOTHING. NOTHING---there is nothing there but moonlight-- I can’t be responsible for what happens.
Don’t give them anything, Santa, until that front door is pained white--- the same color as the trim. Jussaying…
#veryirritated
Love these guys, but they give me frown lines and grey hair some days.
Girls can be destructive forces, too. I have one who thinks throw pillows on the couch double as lunch trays. I have another who tosses anything and everything behind the couch when no one is looking: banana peels, wrappers, used tissues. WTH?
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