“Price of Admission”

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I love my boyfriend.  He means everything to me.  He supports me in every way, despite his own struggles.

But he drives me nuts.  And he smells.  And he hogs the t.v.

Every day I am confronted with an ongoing obligation to be the house maid.  I know it’s partly my neuroticism but I can’t help but think, ‘Why can’t he put his dirty clothes in the hamper,’ or, ‘Why can’t he scrape the leftover crusty cereal bits so they don’t stick on for dear life to the sides of the bowl.’  He once used to casually point out how I never refill the Britta pitchers (New Bedford water is really fowl-tastes like dirt, chlorine, a fish-processing plant and sewage all wrapped into one.)  Now, however, it’s me who nags about the empty Britta pitchers or making sure the freezer door is shut so we don’t end up with a frozen cube of partly thawed vegetables.  Yes, he leaves the toilet seat up, and yes, he makes a mess of the bathroom when he showers.

I know I can’t be alone in this: doesn’t everyone have farting contests?  He says, “You have the most inhuman fart noises.  The sound like they are talking.”  In this category, I am the winner.  I have no shame.  I’m here to bare all.  He, however, often comes at me with SBDs; and because our apartment is just over 200-square feet, it fills the entire living quarters.  We keep Lysol in business.

He always disagrees with me on what we watch on TV.  “You don’t like documentaries.  I guess I’ll have to watch this on my own.”  I have no idea where he got this idea.  We agree on a few things:  Bob’s Burgers, Tim and Eric, Will Farrell movies, 70’s and 80’s cult classics (such as Running Man and Robocop), and anything with Crispin Glover.  But he hogs the TV.  Now, when he sits down on the couch, I surrender the remote, put up with whatever he chooses, and knit.

But, as my therapist says, “It’s the price of admission.”  Meaning, when you love and live with someone, you just have to put up with their eccentricities as well.  I am not without my own.  And with all the nagging and complaining I do, I know that his little annoyances are just that: little annoyances.  Nothing to get upset over.  Nothing that would at all make or break our relationship.  In fact, if he weren’t around, it would be those little characteristics that I would miss most.

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About Miss Misery

I am a miserable, depressed, borderline, sonofabitch. View all posts by Miss Misery

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