I know it’s not all men, but it is certainly all of my men. They are just so…so slovenly. And unorganized. And smelly. And clueless. Which I know is not the end of the world, and I don’t hate them or anything because of their awful, disturbing habits, but surely on my own blog, which is frequented by people who interact with me and not them, I get the luxury of a little complaining every now and again, right?
Oh, and did I mention forgetful and obnoxious?
It’s all just so constant. Constant chaos, constant laundry, constant “Oh, I need black felt, a non-fiction book, and a potato by tomorrow”**, constant “You owe me $40 for January’s allowance and I need it now,” constant noise, constant underwear lying on the floor with the leg holes still intact, as if they just stepped out of them, when in reality they’ve been there since Sunday, constant everything.
Which, for an above average wife and mom, might not be a huge deal, but for me, it is overwhelming. I need time to think. I need time to assess. I need time to plot revenge. But with all these men of mine up in my grillz 24/7, I find myself having to just react.
And I am not so good at reacting. I snap. I yell. I become catatonic. Oh, and now that my kids are old enough to get it (but young enough still, I suppose, to feel the cruelty), I am sarcastic. And sometimes, I just capitulate. Capitulating when beaten down may actually be the worst reaction of all. Because that means they have sensed my vulnerability and moved in for the quick, decisive kill, prompting my cowardly surrender.
Did I mention I am glad everyone is back at school/work?
And can someone please explain to me how I have managed to go to Target on three separate occasions, looking for some sort of miracle cream to put on my haggard old mug, only to come home, ALL THREE TIMES, with the same stupid stuff that does nothing but make my skin itch?
**no, I’m not making this up.
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