*WARNING* This post contains the word ‘fart’.
Since I’ve been on the decaf I’ve not been a morning person. In fact there’s only a 30 minute period in the entire day when I’m actually firing on all cylinders and then my brain disengages again. I’m also functioning on depleted supplies of oestrogen and this could explain why my inner grumpy went orbital the morning I walked in to find OH’s dirty undies casually draped over the chair.
OH assures me it’s due to having a ‘hairy bottom’ though I think it’s also to do with the numerous ‘rump rippers’ he fires into his ‘drawers’ throughout the day.
Truth be told – I’ve yet to come across a male who hasn’t left varying degrees of skiddery in his underpants. Having been married twice and birthed three sons- I’ve seen more skidmarks than Brands Hatch but apparently I can still be caught off guard and so I found myself faced with a dilemma – did I wash them, toss them, or set fire to them?
After conducting a brief risk assessment (see what I did there?) I reluctantly chose to violate my washer with the offending skivvies. So I shoved them inside the machine (via the end of my mop) and slammed the door before they could escape. Then I threw in a box of Daz and left them slapping against the door on a hot wash while I staggered off to dry-heave over the kitchen sink.
It got me to thinking about how long into a relationship bad habits creep in and according to an article in The Telegraph – it’s three years and six months after tying the knot. It’s what is known as ‘the comfort zone’. OH and myself married last year but we’ve lived with each other for nine years so I’d say we’re well into the comfort zone!
Early on in relationships people stifle burps and politely leave the room to
fart break wind. They take time over their appearance and are considerate to their partners. OH even let me have the TV remote in the early days – imagine that?
Muffling farts with a strategic loo flush?
*sticks hand up*
However, it was OH who took our relationship to another level the night he fired off three consecutive
trumps farts into the sofa while watching Top Gun just at the moment that GOOSE DIES!
This is real life and real life is..
Morning breath that could strip the paint off a barn door.
Watching the light of your life floss his undercarriage WITH HIS UNDERPANTS.
Sniffing what’s left of the crotch of your leggings (with elastic bits pinging out) to see if you can get another day out of them.
Women shuffling around the house in tea-stained dressing gowns or worse – onesies.
Men strolling round the house in saggy man pants or worse – onesies.
Leaving your ‘trimmings’ in the bath – eh ladies?
Toenail clippings on the floor…
The first time OH clipped his toenails off onto the carpet, I had to hold myself back from grievously bodily harming him. One of the talons pinged it’s way into my wine glass, although OH was oblivious to it as he was deep in concentration tackling his big toe at the time.
Folks, if my Dad had given himself a pedicure over my Ma’s Axminster carpet – he’d have needed those clippers surgically removed. Truth.
Clipping your hoofs in front of your OH is most definitely NOT bringing sexy back. Do it over the bath or the bog, eh?
Everybody does it but the female of the species generally do it in private whereas the males can spotted knuckles deep anytime, anyplace and anywhere.
I blame TV’s portrayals of so called ‘perfect relationships because it gives people unrealistic expectations of what relationships should be. Humans aren’t perfect, therefore life isn’t perfect and neither are relationships. Richard Gere strutting into a dusty old factory wearing a uniform and slinging Debra Winger over his shoulder?
Only in Hollywood.
Whereas Jim Royle picking his nose, farting and announcing to ‘Baaaaaaarb’ that he’s off for a “Tom-Tit” is entirely believable.
Snoring is another thing we tolerate in the early days because our brains are releasing happy-go-lucky neurotransmitters into the bloodstream. However, once the happy juice wears off you could quite happily beat the living shit out of them with a shovel in order to get some sleep! Am I wrong?
Having said that, I woke myself up snoring not so long ago, so, er, moving on….
After the infatuation dies down is when the real love begins.
Love is commitment.
Love is knowing that your partner is flawed but loving them anyway.
Love isn’t a bunch of roses or a box of chocolates (or a cactus) it’s a feeling in the heart which no amount of money can buy. When someone loves you despite your faults, you have something really special.
That’s what love is.
OH loves me despite the fact I’m
a bit very strange.
He’s not fazed when I turn psycho due to lack of hormones. You know, the hormones that make us bearable?
So I tolerate the skidundies, the TV remote hoggery and general man habits because he tolerates me.
I even forgive him for ruining Goose’s emotional exit from Top Gun.
Because that’s what love is.
*OH sportingly approved this post but wishes it to be known that he picks his clippings up afterwards.
This is true except for the ones which shoot under the sofa. *snorts*