Thursday, September 4, 2008

Marriage 101

It was a quiet evening for Mr. and Mrs. Authoress, who were sitting together in their living room, one with a lap top (not Mrs. Authoress) and one with a glass of ice water in her hands (not Mr. Authoress).

The glass of ice water slipped from my hands, unannounced, unbidden, as though it couldn't bear the feeling of my palms for another moment. An ice cube skittered across the floor, which brought Mr. Authoress's attention to the forefront.

"What was that?"

"I dropped my water."

"You dropped your water?"

(Why do men repeat things?)

"Yes, I dropped my water!" I began to forage for the missing ice cube while Mr. Authoress got to his feet to inspect the damage.

"Ohhhhhh. It's all over the place!" Really? "You need to clean this up."

That's right, Mr. Authoress. Bark orders at your wife.

I ignored him whilst crawling across the floor to retrieve the errant ice cube.

Mr. Authoress was indignant. "What are you doing?"

"I'm picking up an ice cube."

"Why are you picking up an ice cube? You've got to get this wiped up!"

Struck by the revelation that nobody had ever explained to Mr. Authoress the tendency of ice cubes to melt and create their own little messes, I sputtered a few impatient words of my own (just a few, mind you) and tossed the ice cube into the kitchen sink.

Upon returning to the scene of the crime, I watched in disbelief as Mr. Authoress pulled back the sofa to reveal -- the firmament forbid -- a small pool of water on the hardwood floor. And you know, I was just so grateful that he did it. I mean, it never would have crossed my mind to look under the sofa. I was sitting on it, of course, when I dropped the water. But you know how we women can't seem to think these things through. We need men to bark orders and move furniture for us.


Not only was I able to clean up the water spill, but we've managed to remain married for another day. Goodness knows where we'd be if I had spilled a glass of Shiraz.

Of course, that's Mr. Authoress's specialty. Spilling red wine, that is. Funny, but I don't recall moving sofas and barking orders when he does it. Even though the ratio of male wines spills to female water spills in our house is about twelve to one.

Not to mention his propensity to leave small electronic equipment in his pants pockets on laundry day, drop his Trio into a sink full of water, and release empty wine glasses onto the bathroom tile (two weeks later and I'm still finding microscopic glass shards).

There you have it. Married life in the Authoress household. Have you taken notes?


  1. Awww. I'm sorry. Sounds like one of those nights. Hope things get better.

  2. Authoress, really? You dropped your water?

    (Sorry, I seem to be repeating what you wrote earlier)

    Please allow me to provide you with the more proper response to Mr. Authoresses comment:

    Mr. Authoress: "Ohhhhhh. It's all over the place! You need to clean this up."

    Mrs. Authoress: "Exactly, you boob. Go and fetch a towel while I locate the ice cubes that spilled across the floor."

    Mr. Authoress: "Here"

    Mrs. Authoress: "The towel's for you. I have to get back to my blog now. Be sure to clean up the puddle under the couch, too. Thanks."

  3. LOL Rick -- I love this and will make sure that Mr. Authoress reads it!

  4. Just a wild don't have any kids, do you?

    Without going into a lot of detail, if Mr. A's behavior bothers you, and he dislikes spilled water, babies...are going to...

    Aw, forget it. Forget I mentioned it. You're probably better off not knowing!

  5. I feel like starting a rumor here...

    so, the Authoress' water broke?


  6. I can sympathize. One of my biggest pet peeves is when my husband states the obvious. You know, when the wind helps you slam the door, you drop a bowl in the sink, you trip over your own feet, etc. and Mr. Man says "Careful!" Uh, excuse me? Are you implying I wasn't trying to be careful? Like I tripped on purpose? Like I meant to rattle the pictures on the wall and cause the vase to fall off the table when the door accidentally slammed shut?

    Yeah, I totally get what you mean. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

  7. Authoress, the more I read about other husbands, the more convinced I become there is only one in the world and he's a bigamist on a monumental scale.

    Mr. Disorderly and I did a similar tap dance this morning. As usual, I stumbled into the kitchen at oh-dark-thirty, eyes only half open, to make coffee while he snored away like a bulldog with a head cold. On the counter between me and the coffee maker was an empty gallon milk jug.

    I admit it was hasty of me to decide after fifteen years that this willy-nilly discarding of "stuff" on the kitchen counter (when the trash can, recycling bin and dishwasher are RIGHT THERE) had to stop, but the milk jug caused something to snap within me. I have become a Woman on a Mission.

    I picked up the jug and set it on the desk in his office, fully expecting to hear not too much later a loud "WHAT THE &#$*@ IS THIS DOING ON MY DESK?!"

    I didn't.

    I did, however, find the milk jug back on the kitchen counter shortly before noon. Muttering a few choice words under my breath, I crept into his office the next time he left and ensconced the jug in the middle of the floor.

    It was back on the kitchen counter within fifteen minutes.

    The jug is now taped to the TV screen. We'll see how that goes over when the next football game comes on.

    Perhaps I'm being too subtle. It's possible a more direct approach -- say, filling the jug with ice water and then chunking at his head -- might make the point where my previous efforts have failed.


  8. To stop our children from leaving their shoes in the middle of the floor, Mr. Kat Harris has started tossing my daughters' shoes out into the front yard.

    Yesterday, our 13-year-old tripped over Mr. Kat Harris' shoes while getting off the couch to answer the telephone (which incidentally was for Mr. Kat Harris). So, to give Mr. Kat Harris a taste of his own medicine, the 13-year-old tossed his shoes out in the front yard.

    And he got mad.


    Okay, aside from stating the obvious, mine will invariably say, "I'm getting hungry." That is my cue to jump up and and take his order, cook the food, and deliver to his giant recliner in his man-cave, as he plays the x-box on his big screen.

    Most of the time I respond with, "Gee, I'm not hungry yet" and walk away.

    Then there are the dirty clothes in our bathroom. Only HE is allowed to leave them scattered across the floor.

    If one of our youngest daughters takes a bath in the garden tub, he comes out like a raging bear, and tells them to go pick their clothes up from HIS bathroom floor (yes, it's the master bath, and YES it's mine also, I think).

    And then there's the "your den (where I write) is awful, you need to clean it."

    Okay, I am so add/adhd that I work WELL in clutter, it's how my brain functions in my head, and it's the ONLY room in the house that I EVER allowed to get messy. So messy it stays until his eyeballs are about ready to explode from the fact that he has no control over that ONE room.

    Men! Can't live with em, but you can't kill em (well, maybe you could, but with my luck, I'd get caught).

    :) Terri

  10. Disorderly, I just about bust something laughing! Too too funny. My hubby prefers the house clean but doesn't make too big a fuss (as most of the mess is his anyways) unless I let the kitchen go too long. Then he flips. Does it say something negative about me that I usually keep the rest of the house spotless but have a tendency to let the kitchen go until there is not a clean dish left in the house?

    I do think it is partly in protest. My other half tends to bring his dishes into the kitchen and then leave them on the counter...3 inches from the sink. And yeah, we have the milk jug problem too. I think I will try taping it to the t.v. That sounds like a stroke of brilliance :D

  11. I'm absolutely peeing in my pants over these comments.....

  12. I am enjoying these comments too, Mrs. Authoress, but not quite to the point of peeing.

    I am getting so many new ideas. ;)

    Great post, as usual.

  13. Oh for heaven's sake, Authoress, don't pee in your pants! That's liable to initiate a whole new round of sparring over "spilt liquid!"


  14. I suppose I'm the only girl with a nice husband?


    I don't think DH has ever talked to me like that. I can't even picture him trying. If I spill something the first thing he asks is if I'm okay. And (unless he's running late) he helps me clean.

    Perhaps you should take Mr. Authoress in for some obedience classes? Finishing school at the very least. A Lady must have her standards!

  15. Okay, now JustMe has made me feel guilty for slamming my hubby.

    In his defense, the poor man has had two heart attacks, and still runs a company (that is expanding like crazy).

    I get to stay at home intead of work, and he encourages me to write.

    He doesn't gripe when I spend money, or stay up till 4 am writing.

    I supposed he's not ALL bad!

    :) Terri

  16. Well, jumping right in here...

    Mr. Authoress is actually pretty fabulous himself. I mean, how many men would sit through their wife's reading out loud of ENTIRE MANUSCRIPTS (first drafts, even) in order to help her edit?

    Yes, the man has gone through a lot for me. He completely supports my writing and wants to see it blossom into a long and prosperous career.

    So I've decided to keep him. :)

  17. These comments are too funny! Here's my input: "Mr. Lopez" (Lopez is my maiden name, so he actually hates being called that) doesn't fuss over our clutter too much. I'll admit, we're a bit messy. But when something else is bothering him (rough day at work, whatever) the mess really irritates him and he goes into a blind cleaning rage. The only problem is that when he does this, he has a tendency to throw away important things because he's not paying his birth certificate. Yep, he really did. Which pissed him off even more.

  18. I refuse to feel bad or tell anyone what a sweet, funny, romantic thing Mr. Disorderly can be UNTIL HE DOES SOMETHING WITH THAT INFERNAL MILK JUG!

    It's always the little things that drive people over the edge into criminal insanity....


  19. Yes, somehow Mr. Cate finds me to be entirely responsible every time the cat vomits. As if I squeezed it or something.
    Ususally he cleans it up (very nice) but with very colorful running commentary throughout the process.
    In my defense, I may not be the vomit patrol, but I am the only one who has ever cleaned the litter box in nearly ten years.

  20. Disorderly - I'm feeling your pain. I share a house with 3 men (or 3 boys, depending on your perspective). My pet peeve: Bowls from my husband's lunch. He comes home & leaves them on the counter. Now, he might be waiting for the 'dishwashing fairy' to come, but she's never been reliable. I swear they will sit there for a week before I finally get sick of looking at them.
    And trust me, hitting him in the head with a jug full of ice water won't solve anything. You'll just have a bigger mess to clean up!

  21. ROFL!

    You girls are too funny.

    Authoress, it's good he lets you read books out loud. DH asks all sorts of awkward questions when I talk about plots. I suppose it means I have fewer plot holes (but I still hate rewriting).

  22. Disorderly, I'm screaming in laughter here :D

    Celticqueen, the kitchen is my one weakness too *blush* If the kitchen is clean I feel like I can conquer the world, but if it gets messy, I start to feel sick even going in there...

    Thankfully, the DH (with whom I have also done the 'Inky, the house is a mess!', "Well, dear, they're YOUR clothes in the bathroom!' dance) has recently realised how much stress I'm under trying to both work and study full time, and has volunteered to take charge of keeping said kitchen clean.

    In fact, he got home to find me doing dishes tonight and told me off, sat me on the lounge, and said that that was his job now :o)

    I can forgive quite a lot for that, I must say :)