Bring. It. On.

A few days ago I shared one of my many, many marriage standoffs.

So far, the phone books are still living in the hallway.  It seems that everyone has had some sort of standoff with their significant other:

Marinka: “I had no idea that we were mid-standoff, so the answer [on how long I would wait] was apparently ‘eternity’, which is what he screamed at me when he finally cracked.”  I won’t crack.  I’ll just throw it in the trash and be done with it forever.

Courtney:  “When we got back from vacation in May our suitcases sat in the floor in the living room for 3 weeks waiting for someone to put them away. Finally after 2.5 long weeks hubby put them in the shed.”  Ahh..I just shove those into his side of the closet. I’m clumsy, if I leave them out, I will trip and kill myself.

Renovation Girl: ” I would love to do a standoff, but I’m the one who can never last, so it’s not much fun for me.”  Then you aren’t doing it right, it’s really quite a lot of fun in a self satisfying snarky kind of way.

But I did think about Marinka’s comment. I wonder if Ismael even knows?

So I asked him, “Umm these phone books out here?  Do we need them?”

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you bring them in?”

“I forgot.”

Rinse, lather and repeat with minor variation about five times this week.

And the phone books?  Yeah, going in the garbage today.  I think I’ll wait til it’s full and lay them right on top.  Maybe even on top of some discarded cat litter, which would ensure he would never, ever pick them up and keep them.

I have a new stand off to take my attention.  I can’t be burning it all up on some stray phone books.

I came home on Thursday to find this laying on my kitchen table:

It seems that my to remain nameless apartment complex did patio inspections for the first time in the three summers we have been here and discovered my clothes line.

Or at least I thought they did, but then on further inspection it seems that I cannot have a cloth lined patio, not a clothes line, so I must be safe.

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