Marital blitz
Sometimes when you're married, you get into completely ridiculous, circular arguments. Such as the one we experienced last night.
It actually started last weekend, when M was packing for a trip. "Where are my shirts?" The shirts in question are some very nice ones that he and I both like and that have become a staple in his wardrobe. He has four: cream, gray, dark green and eggplant. They wash up well, they always look nice, they're long-sleeved and collared...good, all-around shirts.
I had done all the laundry, including folding/hanging and putting away, and M couldn't find two of the shirts.
"Where are my shirts?"
"What shirts?"
"These shirts. You know. Here are two, where are the other two? The gray and green ones?"
"I don't know. I don't wear them."
"Well, YOU did all the wash. So where are they?"
"I only wash what is put down the chute. If you didn't put 'em down, I didn't wash 'em."
This went on for a few minutes, with both of us growing increasingly agitated. I think we were both angry at him, but let's just say he likes to project his feelings outward.
Finally, I said, "If I had to guess, you left them in a hotel room." He's been traveling a lot lately, and he likes to completely unpack when he's in a room, which is fine, but which leaves the door open for forgetting items. This is the boy who took one of our good washcloths on a trip with him several years ago ("I wanted to wrap up my toothbrush!") and then was shocked when room service took it along with all the other bath linens. Grrrrr.
Rather than admit that he might ever lose something himself, he likes to make irrational comments such as, "This damn house eats things!"
This time it was, "I didn't leave them behind! I put all the clothes in the plastic laundry bags and brought them home! Where are the plastic bags?" Well, the plastic bags had been emptied down the laundry chute by yours truly (with help from our 2-year-old who now adores putting things down the chute, but that's a whole other post) after they sat on our bedroom floor for four days and threatened to start walking about on their own.
Somehow, in his mind, I had magically made the shirts disappear somewhere in the midst of my ultra-mysterious wonderland of the laundry room. He would be stunned if he knew what little powers I actually possess.
I asked him, "What's the last trip you had them?" Wrong question because, of course, he can't remember (see statement above about him traveling a lot lately) when or where he last wore them. Questions like these serve no purpose other than to aggravate the piss out of him because he hates it when things don't just fall into place and we've got to actually sort through the issue.
This process does not bother him at all if it's something mathmatically or mechanically inclined. Where I'm prone to beat on something until it starts working, he likes to say, "Work the problem...figure it out." We're compatible like that, see. I find things, he fixes things. It works for us.
In a fit of pique, I proclaimed, "I'm calling Treasure Island in Vegas and seeing if they have your shirts!" I didn't even know if he took the damn things with him on that trip, but it was one of the more recent trips so I figured it was worth a shot. He grumbled that he didn't leave them in a hotel room, so don't bother.
So I didn't.
Which meant, of course, that last night he asked me if I had gotten around to calling TI about his shirts.
Commence Lost Shirt Argument - Part Deux.
Finally, I googled the TI, got the number, and called. It's beyond me why it's my responsibility to track down his lost shirts, but I'm a good wifey and I'll do what I can to keep the peace. And to prove I'm right.
Of course, the lost-and-found office at the TI was closed for the day (I thought Vegas was a 24-hour type of place, no?) so I took down the direct number and told M I'd call today. Meanwhile, all by himself, like a big boy, he looked up the number for the Hilton Garden Inn in Austin and made his own call and left his own message.
And informed me today, only after prompting from me, that the Hilton Garden Inn in Austin does indeed have his missing shirts and is shipping them back.
This is why, after 10 years of marriage, we both say in monotone voices, "It has been blissful."
It actually started last weekend, when M was packing for a trip. "Where are my shirts?" The shirts in question are some very nice ones that he and I both like and that have become a staple in his wardrobe. He has four: cream, gray, dark green and eggplant. They wash up well, they always look nice, they're long-sleeved and collared...good, all-around shirts.
I had done all the laundry, including folding/hanging and putting away, and M couldn't find two of the shirts.
"Where are my shirts?"
"What shirts?"
"These shirts. You know. Here are two, where are the other two? The gray and green ones?"
"I don't know. I don't wear them."
"Well, YOU did all the wash. So where are they?"
"I only wash what is put down the chute. If you didn't put 'em down, I didn't wash 'em."
This went on for a few minutes, with both of us growing increasingly agitated. I think we were both angry at him, but let's just say he likes to project his feelings outward.
Finally, I said, "If I had to guess, you left them in a hotel room." He's been traveling a lot lately, and he likes to completely unpack when he's in a room, which is fine, but which leaves the door open for forgetting items. This is the boy who took one of our good washcloths on a trip with him several years ago ("I wanted to wrap up my toothbrush!") and then was shocked when room service took it along with all the other bath linens. Grrrrr.
Rather than admit that he might ever lose something himself, he likes to make irrational comments such as, "This damn house eats things!"
This time it was, "I didn't leave them behind! I put all the clothes in the plastic laundry bags and brought them home! Where are the plastic bags?" Well, the plastic bags had been emptied down the laundry chute by yours truly (with help from our 2-year-old who now adores putting things down the chute, but that's a whole other post) after they sat on our bedroom floor for four days and threatened to start walking about on their own.
Somehow, in his mind, I had magically made the shirts disappear somewhere in the midst of my ultra-mysterious wonderland of the laundry room. He would be stunned if he knew what little powers I actually possess.
I asked him, "What's the last trip you had them?" Wrong question because, of course, he can't remember (see statement above about him traveling a lot lately) when or where he last wore them. Questions like these serve no purpose other than to aggravate the piss out of him because he hates it when things don't just fall into place and we've got to actually sort through the issue.
This process does not bother him at all if it's something mathmatically or mechanically inclined. Where I'm prone to beat on something until it starts working, he likes to say, "Work the problem...figure it out." We're compatible like that, see. I find things, he fixes things. It works for us.
In a fit of pique, I proclaimed, "I'm calling Treasure Island in Vegas and seeing if they have your shirts!" I didn't even know if he took the damn things with him on that trip, but it was one of the more recent trips so I figured it was worth a shot. He grumbled that he didn't leave them in a hotel room, so don't bother.
So I didn't.
Which meant, of course, that last night he asked me if I had gotten around to calling TI about his shirts.
Commence Lost Shirt Argument - Part Deux.
Finally, I googled the TI, got the number, and called. It's beyond me why it's my responsibility to track down his lost shirts, but I'm a good wifey and I'll do what I can to keep the peace. And to prove I'm right.
Of course, the lost-and-found office at the TI was closed for the day (I thought Vegas was a 24-hour type of place, no?) so I took down the direct number and told M I'd call today. Meanwhile, all by himself, like a big boy, he looked up the number for the Hilton Garden Inn in Austin and made his own call and left his own message.
And informed me today, only after prompting from me, that the Hilton Garden Inn in Austin does indeed have his missing shirts and is shipping them back.
This is why, after 10 years of marriage, we both say in monotone voices, "It has been blissful."
posted by Amy at 10:05 AM
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