Monday, January 03, 2005

The Top 10 Reasons I Am Glad I Am Not Married to Me

My husband is a long-suffering individual. Being married to Eyebrows is no picnic. As I was showering this morning, I realized this anew.

Because 1) I leave hair everywhere. This was the reason that kicked off the litany, and made me thing about what my husband puts up with. I have long, thick, curly hair, and I shed like ... well, like one of those really sheddy cats. I noticed because once again I clogged the shower drain through the simple act of cleaning my hair. It's bad enough to have to clean up your own hairballs, but I can't imagine being someone else and having to clean up after me. (Note to my siblings: You don't count. You were all so much messier than me. I do not feel bad for you.) Not only does my husband have to clean all the cat hair off his suit every morning, which it acquires just hanging in the closed closet, but he has to clean off all of MY hair. Gross gross gross.

2) I cry for no reason. With alarming frequency. It's hereditary. Loose tear ducts. I just bawl. Sometimes commercials start me off. The Olympics are dire. Sometimes I drop something in the kitchen and burst into tears. Sometimes my husband shouts at the football game on TV, it startles me, and I get all teary. Sometimes I'm just sitting there doing nothing in particular and I'm struck with an overwhelming urge to cry. The poor man. How annoying would that be, to be married to someone who cries constantly for no reason? I mean, I have three degrees from very nice colleges, and I can stare down the nastiest customer service person or surliest bureaucrat. I am a secure, professional woman with nice clothes. But I still cry for no reason.

3) I own too many shoes. 75 pairs or so on last count. Yet Mr. McGee said not one word when I installed industrial shelving so they'd stop falling on my head when I tried to get the bottom ones out of the stacks. There goes our retirement fund - 13 pairs of black strappy sandals in all different styles. I'll be so stylish at the soup kitchen when we're 75.

4) I can't cook. Well, at least I've proven willing to learn. I haven't given anyone food poisoning in years now! (I won't say how many.) And yet, even though he does most of the cooking (he's better at it), I call it "my kitchen" and berate him when he does things "not my way" in the kitchen.

5) I only play games with him that I know I will win. I never play any of the ones he wants to play - like Scrabble, which I suck at - but stick with the ones where I can easily annhiliate him, like Trivial Pursuit. I claim this is because he gets too competitive and is a sore winner (which is true), but he's a remarkably good loser when I wipe the floor with him over and over again because I'll only play games I win. I'm not sure if he's caught on to this strategy or not. (I, on the other hand, am a gracious winner but a pouty loser, so it's probably better for our marriage if we only play games I win. Then we have a good winner and a good loser, instead of a sore winner and a pouty loser.)

6) I forget everything I tell him as soon as I tell it to him. We have this conversation constantly:
Mr. McGee: Isn't Jennifer getting married this month?
Me: Jennifer's getting MARRIED?!?!?!?
Mr. McGee: Yes, you told me.
Me: No I didn't. I didn't know she was getting married!
Mr. McGee: Yes you did! How else would I know? She's your friend. She e-mailed you.
Me: No she didn't! (checks e-mail inbox) Oh, wait, she did. Never mind.
It's like as soon as I download a piece of information from my brain to his, I feel free to delete it from my mental hard drive. He's constantly trying to remind me of things I arranged, or told him, or asked him to do, of which I have absolutely zero recollection. (Note that I know he uses this quirk to tell me I said things I never, ever, ever said, but since I can't reliably remember what I did say, he gets away with a lot of crap I never said.)

7) I fart. (Well, everyone does, a half-liter a day, I've read, but bear with me ...) I bug Mr. McGee because he has two sets of manners - one for company (the "good" ones) and one for home (the "bad" ones) - and I don't think it's fair for him to use the BAD manners on me, when as his wife, I deserve the best manners. Yet while I would never, ever fart in public, I think nothing of ripping one off at home. I think this comes of having brothers.

8) I don't take his phone calls. I don't take much of anyone's phone calls, because I hate being interrupted by the phone when I'm in the middle of something. So I call him back. Still, I'll call his cell 10 times in a row if he's not picking up. If he did that to me, I'd kill him.

9) I'm generally rotten with double standards, beyond the farting and the phoning. I get mad if he talks during my TV shows, but I ramble on and on about unrelated things when he's watching Antiques Roadshow (but it's so BORING!). I tell him I'm smarter than him to joke around (I have three degrees, he as two) but I get really pissed off when he does it to me (he outscored me by a single point on the LSATs). I tell Florida jokes all the time but sulk if he tells Chicago jokes. And on and on.

10) I'm a total control freak in the car. If he's driving, I phantom break, clutch the doorway, cringe at passing vehicles ... the whole nine yards. I try to keep my mouth shut, but periodically I'm overwhelmed with the urge to give him instructions on how close to get behind the truck he's going to pass before moving into the left lane ("Not ... THAT ... CLOSE!"). I'm just much happier if I'm driving.

Sometimes I am entirely mystified as to why he married me. I wouldn't marry me! I'd drive me nuts!