Too Many Words

Sometimes I don't understand my husband.

There I said it.

Every time we have a day off together, he will inevitably look at me at some point and say, "You have two more questions to ask me for today...that is all...use them wisely."

Apparently, some people (pointing to husband), think that I use too many words.

Today he was on a mission to pick up the clutter downstairs.  Let me translate.  He was on a mission to either 1.) put things without a home in the trash or 2.) put things without a home in the attic.  These are the two fates of all clutter standing in the way of Andy and a relaxing afternoon of watching the flat screen and drinking a Dr. Pepper.

Let me correct myself...these are the the two fates of all of my clutter.

He does not own anything classified as "clutter."  At least that's what I'm told.  By him.  Regularly.

So in the midst of this de-cluttering frenzy, he holds something up to me and says, "Do you need this for something?"

He was holding two bottles of brand new Softsoap that I purchased the day before and were still in the bag on the counter.

My eyes narrow.

What I really wanted to say was, "what if I said I don't need it for anything?" just to see which of the two fates the hand soap would receive.  Would it make more sense to him to throw it away or store it in the attic?

I'm not sure why basic human instinct wasn't already troubleshooting this one for him.  After all, it was hand soap.  The very same kind that sits on the ledge of every bathroom sink we have.  The hand soap that lives in the linen closet or under the sink until needed.

It was extra hand soap, people.

It's every discount shopper and couponer's number one stockpiled item.  If you can't swing buying bulk loads of Kix and Ramen at least have the linen closet full of Soft Soap.

Women...come clean (no pun intended).  That stuff drops to below $1 and you are loading your buggy like you will never have this opportunity again.

For the sake of the de-cluttering conversation with my husband, I left it at, "Yes, I need it."  Simply because the questioning I wanted to put him through was going to yield one of those awesome, "women say too many things," eye-rolling or exhaling moments.

Those, by the way, are my favorite.

And, yes I wanted to interrogate him in a tiny room with a two way mirror to find out why he didn't just 'know' to put the soap away. So?

"So, tell me, Andy is it?  If that's your real name. What do you think two unopened bottles of hand soap were doing on the kitchen counter? Have you ever seen 'extra' household supplies in the house before?  Is there a special place that your wife, we'll call her Rachel, keeps things that she, perhaps, doesn't need right now, but will probably need in the next few weeks?"

I didn't do this.  I said, "yes" and took my hand soap to the secret hand soap holding room that I don't tell my husband about.  


See, women, actually care that you think we're nagging.  Well, no so much the fact that we're nagging...we want men to admit that we are justified in using the number of words that we are using in any given hand soap conversation.  We want to set you straight by over explaining why we feel the need to over explain.  We want a, "oh, I get it," moment at the end. But there's a problem.

Men don't care.

They just want you to stop talking as soon as possible. I said as soon as possible.  Not only do they not care about you justifying the fact that you are, yes, still talking, they don't even care that you are then writing a blog post about it so that someone, somewhere, will listen to all of your words in the hopes that another woman will send you an FB message and say, "Girl, that is so my husband too."

Men, these are the moments when you take a swig of your beer and say to your buddies, "Dude, I love her, but she is psycho sometimes."

We are, in turn thinking, "I wonder how many bottles of unused hand soap have been throw away? What if I hadn't been here?"

I don't even want to think about that.


Bethany said…
Girl, that is so my husband too. ;) Seriously!
Oh, I am sooooo always waiting for the "oh, I get it" moment. It never comes with Shaun. Or, actually, maybe it comes but he NEVER indulges me the satisfaction of owning up to it. The terd.

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