Don't send a man to the grocery store...

... or to get a movie unless you like sodium and fat saturated foam board and a cheesy, violence-saturated flick starring a certain muscle-bound governor.

Is it a missing gene that makes an other-wise intelligent man enjoy the most brainless entertainment and unable to shop or eat responsibly? I dearly love my husband but I do feel the need to "take the mickey" for just a moment. I hope he'll humor me.

Amnesia

Why is it that after living in the same house for many months, even years, he still doesn't know that the yellow mugs live on the same shelf as the other yellow mugs but not with the blue ones?

And how hard is it to close a kitchen cabinet door? Apparently very.

How is it that when I move the hamper (although still in plain view) the clothes still get thrown where the hamper used to be? Maybe he thinks that if he does that for long enough I will eventually give up and put the hamper back. Or maybe he still sees it there... The Phantom Hamper?

Talking of Laundry

I have three categories of clothes:

Clean - either in a basket or the closet.

Dirty - in the hamper.

Still Wearable - laid on the chair (not always neatly, I must confess) or back in the closet.

He has four:

Clean - in a basket or the closet.

Dirty - in the hamper, on the floor next to the hamper (how hard is it to get them in the hamper?), by the side of the bed, or, in the case of socks, rolled in a ball next to the chair that he happened to be sitting in when he removed them.

Still Wearable - in piles in the closet or on the floor, and frequently mixed with the above categories.

Dirty but should be saved for outdoor activities or messy chores - in piles in the closet or on the floor, and frequently mixed with the above categories.

Sockballs

Please explain why this man who cannot take off a shirt without first pulling it into the most unbelievable muddle - inside out and upside down - or god-forbid, put it to rights before throwing it in the hamper or hanging on the hook, can, without fail bundle his socks into a perfect space-saving little ball? Is it because they provide more entertainment when doing a 3-pointer into the laundry basket (can't be that because they hardly ever make it there), or is it the pure joy of knowing that I have to pull apart each slimy pair before dropping them into washing machine? He tells me it's so they won't get lost... well, dear if I were to wash and dry them while retaining their spherical form that might make an ounce of sense.

OCD

I don't have it but I do like things done right. The dishwasher, for example. When loading it there are certain items that fit better in one spot and there is a way to maximize capacity. But no matter how many times I gently remind him of these specifics, if left to his own devices, my husband's loading job will be full of holes and inefficient placement.

I have just read this to my husband and for the most part he is humored. But fair's fair... now it's my turn. And I quote (more or less):

You let the gas tank get to practically empty before even thinking about stopping to fill it up (and then you wait until I drive it next anyway).

You refuse to run the dishwasher until every inch of space is filled.

The floor of the closet is entirely covered with shoes - and they all look exactly the same to me. How many brown shoes do you need, woman?

You always have one more thing to write before going to bed.

I have to butter my bread with soup because you always leave it out.

You pack for every possible activity and weather conceivable and every thing in the house has to be left clean before leaving on a trip.

You have a tendency to be penny-wise and pound-stupid... "no, you can't buy that, it's .50, but oh, look at these shoes I got on sale.... $48.95 instead of $50... what a great deal!"

You look like the Abominable Snowman when you dress for bed in the winter.

You can change the most putrid diaper or wipe the baby's nose with your fingers but you gag if someone snorts or clears their throat.

And what about hitting snooze 12,000 times every morning? On, off, on, off, buzz, buzz, buzz...

....

He had many more. In fact, the list was getting so long I had to stop him before I started forming an inferiority complex.

I guess we're both as bad as each other - that's why we're perfect for each other.