"Where's my stuff?" he asked me, angrily.
"What stuff?" I asked with an air of innocence.
"The stuff I had on the counter."
"Ooooh. That stuff. I put it in the paper drawer."
"What!? I told you I have to finish those, to leave them on the counter!"
"That was a week and a half ago. I had to clean up." I shrugged "They're right there in the drawer when you're ready to finish them."
"I can't finish them in the drawer! I have to see them to remind me to finish them."
"That's ridiculous!"
"You don't understand!"
"Understand what?" He was huffing and puffing. "What would you say to the kids if you asked them to clean something up and they said they weren't done using it yet?" He glared at me, knowing I had him.
"I am not one of the kids." he pointed out.
"Could have fooled me." I knew before I said it that I shouldn't say it, that I didn't even need to because my point had already been made but I couldn't help myself. Sometimes I could strangle him.
When we first moved in together he would use push pins to hang bills by the front door… by the calendar… by the computer… in the dining room. Just to remind himself to pay them. Drove me batty. You know when I pay a bill? When it arrives. But I'm not allowed to do the bills. Not because he doesn't trust me or because he does a better job at it or any reason like that. Just because he has to do them. It gives him piece of mind wrapped up in anxiety with a high blood pressure bow. He enjoys it. *shrug* I don't care that much. It isn't my money to budget, save or spend anyway.
I have no idea if he ever finished the paperwork. I would bet he didn't. If I were the gambler.
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