Too funny to forget.
17 Reasons to Kill My Husband
by Karen Friend
A dear friend of mine had a baby just over a month ago. I’ll spare you the back story, but take my word for it: this was a particularly momentous and celebrated occasion. Here we are, five weeks later, and not only does she love her baby in every way she should, staring down with the adoring eyes of a new mom, her gorgeous, flowing hair containing more newborn poop than her child’s diaper, she also (get this) still loves and adores her husband.
Crazy, right?
She claims to have no problem with the way her husband does or does not do things. Everything is great with them, she says.
Stupefied, I keep asking how things are, and she keeps saying how “super” he is. She insists that she has no complaints. This is amazing to me. Never mind their years of trying, years of medical-slash-biochemical warfare and emotional cataclysms, this last part, her not wanting to decapitate her spouse, this I find truly mind-boggling.
For me, quite possibly the only thing that I recall with any clarity from the (now 23) months postpartum, is fighting the overwhelming urge to kill my husband.
Please don’t misunderstand, I love my husband. I do. I really do. Like, really really. I love him far more than I can relay in mere text format. That’s right, our love transcends the written word.
The absolute truth of the matter is that I’ve loved him every moment of the last twelve years, even during those moments when his actions force me to contemplate homicide. (Such as when I allow him to proofread what I’m writing and he reminds me that we’ve actually known each other for twelve years and four months and, “What, didn’t you love me for those first four months?”)
My husband, Brian, is a handsome, warm, sweet, funny, and infuriatingly unique individual. This far down the line, and he still makes me laugh unexpectedly and uncontrollably. He still gets me, he still sweeps me off my feet. (No small task since there’s considerably more of me now than there was twelve years ago. OK, OK twelve years and four months ago. SHEESH). I even changed my name for him. I’m proud to have changed my name for him, even though my new name results in my being mistaken for a CareBear.
Most days, I still find myself stricken by the fact that I am his wife and that together we are parents. He is my soul mate, my best friend, and has, to the surprise of (almost) no one, proven to be a loving, warm, and doting father. However, he also does the following things which put his life in jeopardy:
1. Plays Angry Birds. I don’t know why this infuriates me, but it does. I once asked him to please call the cable company about the internet being down and he said he couldn’t right now, because “the birds aren’t going to fling themselves.”
2. Insists that HIS pinkeye isn’t contagious.
3. Spends 20 minutes (TWENTY. MINUTES.) scrubbing the walls of the microwave. Not to be unappreciative, but the baby is crying, cats are meowing in symphony, dishes stacked high in the sink, piles of laundry akin to those seen on “Hoarders” teeter and threaten to smother each of the aforementioned, bedrooms look like Katrina just swung by (too soon?), and he’s scrubbing the bejesus out of (what I thought to be a pretty clean) microwave. He exhausts himself scrubbing the microwave.
4. Surely he can’t be expected to tackle the pile on his nightstand. After massaging the microwave with a sponge, he’s exhausted “from cleaning up all night.” Which reminds me:
5. Looks at me like I’m the crazy one.
6. Ongoing failure to comprehend the need to clean before the cleaners arrive. PMS has nothing on PCS (pre-cleaners syndrome, patent pending). Can I get a fist-bump? Anyone?
7. Selective hearing: Can hear his phone buzzing on vibrate from two rooms away but never has any idea what I just said to him.
8. Challenges my sanity with unannounced, semi-quarterly rearranging of things. Things he doesn’t otherwise utilize, such as the Tupperware cabinet and our son’s dresser drawers. ”Clearly” the shirts should go in this drawer, the pants in this one, and the socks “should” go alllll the way over here in the closet. Neglects to inform the person who actually applies said socks to said child of aforementioned “logical” relocations.
9. Leaves four Frosted Flakes in the box. FOUR FLAKES! Four flakes and a sea of pulverized Flake sugar.
10. Insists that just because I got his pinkeye doesn’t mean that the baby will.
11. Runs off to the museum store to buy our toddler a t-shirt, looking back over his shoulder, yells, “What size does he wear? Small, medium, or large?” Because, you know, that’s how kids’ clothes are sized.
12. When I’m groaning-on-the-couch-sick, asks me, “What’s for dinner?”
13. Takes out the trash, or doesn’t. Riddle me this: two bags of garbage, identical but for content, sit side by side next to the front door. Husband has two, working hands at the terminating ends of two, capable arms. After what can only be considered to be excessive amounts of “gentle reminding,” he does actually take the trash out. But he only takes one of the two bags. Why? If you answered, “because he needs to keep the other hand free in order to play Angry Birds,” then congratulations, you get to leave work a little early today because you’re stopping off at Dunkin’ on the way for a donut.
14. Confuses my death glares and looks of astonishment for amorous feelings.
15. Doesn’t appreciate the irony of him saying, “I can’t do anything right.”
16. Truly believes that he contributes to the household as an equal partner and my accusations to the contrary are “crazy rants” fueled by “mommy brain” and “too much coffee.” Pfft. As if there’s even such thing as “too much coffee.”
17. Truly believes that the baby got pinkeye from daycare.
The list goes on and on. There’s more, I just can’t remember them all at the moment. Which is to say that Brian likely owes his current status as “not yet deceased” to the much maligned “mommy brain.” In fact, I may just revisit and update this list when I come out of the fog created by the latest round of teething and get my bearings back, which, from what I hear, will happen right around the time my toddler enters high school.
The good news is that if and when I do use any of the above reasons to commit homicide, I’ll likely get off scot-free, as long as I have one woman on my jury. All it would take is one. Just one woman who has ever had a husband, a brother, a male colleague who “marks his territory” (or claims with a straight face that he has “no idea” where all the Frosted Flakes went.)
Grab a paddle, ladies, because we’re all in the same boat. Well, most of us. As for the others? Give it time, my dear friends, give it time.
17. Truly believes that the baby got pinkeye from daycare.
The list goes on and on. There’s more, I just can’t remember them all at the moment. Which is to say that Brian likely owes his current status as “not yet deceased” to the much maligned “mommy brain.” In fact, I may just revisit and update this list when I come out of the fog created by the latest round of teething and get my bearings back, which, from what I hear, will happen right around the time my toddler enters high school.
The good news is that if and when I do use any of the above reasons to commit homicide, I’ll likely get off scot-free, as long as I have one woman on my jury. All it would take is one. Just one woman who has ever had a husband, a brother, a male colleague who “marks his territory” (or claims with a straight face that he has “no idea” where all the Frosted Flakes went.)
Grab a paddle, ladies, because we’re all in the same boat. Well, most of us. As for the others? Give it time, my dear friends, give it time.
