I just spilled a torrent of tiny little pills on the kitchen floor. They are just Arnica, a common homeopathic for general pain. But it’s nothing I want my cats getting into, so I immediately (after swearing) went to where our handy-dandy brush and dustpan hangs on the wall in our stairwell going down to the cellar. My hand grasped NOTHING because the Crankee Yankee (my husband) had used it and put it somewhere in the sixth dimension. I sure as heck couldn’t find it.
My constant rant is that if you pick something up and use it, don’t just put it down somewhere thinking you’ll get to it later on; YOU WON’T–SO PUT IT BACK WHERE YOU FOUND IT. I love the Crankee Yankee more than jewelry and the cats, but I swear I will jerk a knot in his tail when he gets home. This happens ALL. THE. TIME. If I had a dollar for each time I found one measly sheet of toilet paper on the roll (with a brand new 4-pack of toilet paper sitting right on the shelf above the toilet), I wouldn’t have to work again–ever. Same with paper towels. And hand soap. And ketchup. And peanut butter. The Crankee Yankee feels that, as long as there is the merest scrape of peanut butter still in the jar, he doesn’t have to put a new jar out.
My modus operandi has always been to replace stuff before I run out of it. I’m the kind of person who doesn’t just want to stay one 4-pack of toilet paper away from running out; I want at least four 4-packs stashed away. If we are low on something, I stock up. If a storm is coming our way, I stock up. If I come into an unexpected windfall, I buy more stuff to stash away; my favorite soap, facial moisturizer, night cream, etc. I suppose if we had more room, I’d get into extreme couponing as well.
I always keep my favorite pen (black Sharpie fine point–always) on the left side of the computer. When the Crankee Yankee strolls in to the office, takes my pen out to the porch to write something down, he will just stroll off on his merry way, leaving the pen–somewhere. It drives me nuts–I want it back where it belongs, pronto. Yes, I am anal about such things. Yes, I feel that my way is the most efficient way to do things.
Then there is the shopping list. When I can’t do the shopping myself, the Crankee Yankee kindly does it, and I appreciate it. However, it is as inevitable as day follows night that he will always come home without at least three items on the list. This absolutely floors me. Hey, I get it if the store doesn’t have it; it happens. But it appears that he will just capriciously not pick up these things for some reason known only to himself. Again, here is my anal outlook again–IF IT’S ON THE LIST, GET IT. Seriously, why would you not?? And sometimes, if I make a new list the include the missing items, he may or may not get them, or he may forget some of the new items.
Then there are the “table issues.” Our kitchen table has become a holding area for coupons, mail, the camera, cards, and stuff to go downstairs. I put something out there, say, a bag of potatoes, and ask the Crankee Yankee if he would be kind enough to please take them downstairs. He replies that yes, he would be glad to. Two hours and three trips down the stairs and the bag of potatoes is still sitting there on the table like a wallflower at a prom.
I believe that not long ago I published on post extolling the people who do not stubbornly become ‘right-fighters’ (or in the words of good old Dr. Phil, ‘Do you want to be right or happy?’), and here I am, being the right-fighter I despise.
Sigh. It would be so much easier if everyone just did it my way. <queue up “My Way” by Frank Sinatra here>