"I brought you your favorite peanut butter hunny!"
.....er....I stare at the peanut butter, it says JIF. Jif? No. No, I'm a Creamy Skippy girl, always have been and always will be. Not the little jar, the BIG jar of Skippy.
Buying the little jar is like slapping the peanut butter God's directly in the face and saying, "I will use you in moderation."
....he can see it on my face, "Isn't this your favorite peanut butter?"
Oh hell. Do I tell the sweet man he made a mistake, or do I live for the rest of our life as a couple hating the peanut butter that he buys, while he celebrates inside for doing such a good deed and being so observant, or so he thinks. Motherfucker. I'll tell him. .....let the wounded puppy face ensue. He took the news better than expected, but dear God, breaking it to him felt like punching a baby in the mouth.
Since we moved in together almost two weeks ago, we've had to adjust to; sharing covers, sharing food, compromising on brands and deciding whether we should be a Shoes-on, or shoes-off sort of house?
Luckily we haven't even had the toilet paper argument yet. We've been stealing it from public bathrooms. Actually, I don't know if that's true. But, a roll at a time miraculously appears on the dispenser, just when we're almost out.... toilet paper angels, I'm convinced. Especially during the holidays, when bathroom trips are more frequent thanks to copious amounts of Eggnog running through my bladder, or holiday party hangovers running liquids up various orifices. It's the angels. Or, My Love and I are running an underground "steal toiletries operation" unbeknownst to each other. Ah, communication- damn you again. We could turn this poaching into a business if we'd just put our heads together.
I've also had to adjust to his INTENSE NEED TO SCRAPE HIS TEETH AGAINST THE FORK ANYTIME HE EATS A PIECE OF EFFING. FOOD. Every time.
"Do you NEED to do that when you eat?"
....My Love, "Do what?"
"MAKE THAT FUCKING NOISE."
....My Love, "ARE YOU SERIOUS? That bothers you?....."
"Yes, yes it bothers me. You sound like a caveman. You know making that noise actually requires EXTRA EFFORT, why exert yourself ? It's totally unnecessary. "
Then the conversation turns into something like; "you want me to eat like a Nun in a convent." Or,"you're totally fucking crazy"....then I spew into a monologue about how I'd rather him eat everything with the delicacy of placing a communion wafer in his mouth, than hear his mad eating skills in my presence. Communion. Wafer. Just let is dissolve, suck on that chip until it's liquid. Don't blame me, blame the people who taught me manners.
Being in love means that it isn't always warm fuzzies and polite, adoring words. Sometimes we're insensitive towards each other and we say things that are brash and untactful. We say things that hurt, or seem callous but when expressed we mean it with the best intentions. It's not to be mean for the sake of being mean, at least not in my case. My Love certainly hasn't held back some of the truths about myself I'd rather not hear and Lord knows I haven't had a hard time pointing at the unfavorable qualities he posses.
Having someone look over your flaws with a magnifying glass isn't something we'd volunteer for if it were written out so blatantly when we made the choice to stamp a title on our relationship status. That isn't the fun part, but it IS the part that makes it REAL.
It isn't fun to be told you need to "take it down about a thousand notches," or that what you're toiling away at, isn't WORKING. Sometimes, as someones love, spouse, etc. you're the only one who gets to SEE the parts that are messy and disastrous and you're probably the only person who's allowed to have an opinion on it, without being a total ass. The things we don't always want to hear are often the things that are the most important for us to recognize, or GASP, CHANGE. That's the part makes all the gritty stuff and the times when we want to choke each other with a Christmas garland, totally worth it.
WHAT ARE YOUR PET PEEVES?