Tag Archives: annoying habits

Running on Empty

My husband and I have two cars. There is generally one that I drive and one that he drives but sometimes we trade off depending on who is taking care of our daughter that day or who needs the bigger car. There is one thing that pretty much never changes, though. No matter which car I use, my husband has almost always left it without gas. You would think that by now I’d have learned to build a little extra time in my day to take the car that he left without gas and fill it up but for some reason it always surprises me. This morning I had to take the car that he has been using so I could drive our kid to school. We were running late and of course, this is what greeted me:

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His response? (It’s the same every. single. time.)

“Oops. I didn’t notice.”

One of these days I’m going to throw out all of his coffee and when he asks where it all went, I’ll just say, “Oops. I didn’t notice that it all ended up in the garbage can.”

Too Many Tissues

My husband has a habit of shoving a million things in his pockets and leaving them there. Tissues, receipts, pens, change and more tissues. The amount of tissues my husband goes through on a daily basis is enough to keep Kleenex in business for a long, long time. He likes to wad up the tissues and store them in his pockets so they can be easily accessible whenever he needs them. Listen, I’m not going to complain about my husband having all kinds of sinus issues and needing to blow his nose all the time. (But the snoring the sinus issues cause? Well, that is something I will complain about…and often do.) The problem is that he never empties his pockets before he throws his pants or shorts into the hamper. Ever. And because I always do, I’m just not in the habit of checking pockets before I put the clothes in the washer. I usually end up regretting that oversight because when the load is done and I go to take the clothes out, what I usually end up seeing is a washing machine full of shreds of tissue. Seriously, everywhere and on every piece of clothing in there. I then attempt to shake off all the clothes before I put them in the dryer but usually end up missing some shreds and also forget to recheck all the pockets for tissue remnants so when the clothes are done, they have even more tissue fragments adhered to them. This is how our hamper of clean, just-out-of-the-dryer clothes looks:

If I had some kind of a fancy photo editing program, I’d highlight all the tissues for you but this is a pretty low-tech blog. Also, sorry for making you look at my husband’s underwear.

I have often unknowingly gone to work with tissue shreds on the back of my shirt. There were also times when I’d see tissues on my husband’s clothes before he left for work and I debated whether I should tell him or not. I’m not ashamed to tell you that there were plenty of times I decided not to.

Besides tissues on our clothes, there are also always scraps of tissues on the floor like this:


My daughter is growing up thinking that it’s normal to have tissue shreds all over everything.

I suppose I should really start getting in the habit of checking his pockets before I do laundry. Either that or invest in some handkerchiefs.

“Just Let Them Soak”


My husband and I have an ongoing battle when it comes to the dishes. We do have a dishwasher but I never had one growing up. The first time I ever had one was when I bought my place several years ago and since I didn’t know how to work it, I would wash my dishes in the sink then use the dishwasher as a drying rack. Because of this, my husband thinks that I’m terrible at loading the dishwasher (he’s right) and so he wants to be in charge of the dishes…which would be totally fine, if he actually did it.

See, here’s the vicious cycle that happens all the time: (1) the dishwasher gets run but it never gets emptied; (2) because of this, all current dirty dishes simply get piled into the sink; (3) the pile keeps growing until it’s so tall and precariously stacked, something is sure to fall and break until (4) I get fed up, empty the dishwasher of the clean dishes then load it with the dirty dishes and then (5) my husband complains about the awful way I’ve loaded the dishwasher.

The other thing my husband loves to do, especially with things that either don’t fit in the dishwasher or are supposed to be washed by hand, is soak dirty dishes. The grill we made chicken on? Soak it. The gigantic pasta pot? Soak it. Wine glasses? Soak ’em. The problem is that he’ll leave things to soak and then they’ll just sit there. For days and days on end. Then other things, like utensils and small plates get put into the pot of soaking water (which has at that point turned cold and is no longer soapy) only to end up greasy or covered in tomato sauce. So not only do the original dishes never get cleaned but then the other ones end up dirtier than when we first used them.

My husband’s idea of being “in charge of the dishes” is to pretty much ignore them until we no longer have room in the sink to stack any more dishes and we’re eating off of paper plates with our hands. We’re gonna need a bigger sink.

The Sock Game Continues

Guess where my husband’s socks have ended up now! As a hint, here’s a portion of the full-sized picture:

To see the answer, scroll down (I don’t know how to do one of those “read more after the jump” page break thingies and they kind of annoy me when I’m reading blogs anyway)...

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If you guessed on the baby’s puzzle toy, you’re right! (And no, this picture is NOT staged. Believe me, I wish it were.)

Here’s my daughter, trying to figure out how to play with the game while there’s a pair of dirty socks on it. Poor kid.

The Laundry Dilemma

My husband seems to be a big fan of piles. Mainly, piles of clothes in our bedroom. Everytime we get some space cleared up, a pile of clothes will instantly appear in that space. Where did these clothes come from? Where were they before this pile started? These are questions I will probably never find answers to.

But anyway, I’m used to these piles by now. I can almost say that they don’t bother me. (Almost. Not quite, though…) Here’s what does bother me: after a load of laundry gets done, we generally put the clothes right from the dryer into a laundry bag to take into the bedroom. I’ve noticed lately that if I don’t put those clothes away, they’ll sit in that laundry bag forever. My husband will just pick through it every day to find whatever he needs – socks, t-shirts, underwear, whatever.

The last few times, I wanted to see how long it would take for him to decide to actually take his clothes out of the bag and put them away. Big mistake on my part. What I discovered is that it doesn’t bother him one bit to have to rummage through the laundry bag, searching for that elusive matching sock, each day until eventually the bag of clean clothes is empty and they’re all dirty again. On the other hand, it pretty much drives me crazy. So in the interest of preserving my sanity, I’ve conceded defeat in this one. For the rest of my life, it’ll be my job to put all the laundry away to avoid having that  bag full of clothes sitting in our bedroom. But the piles? I’m just going to keep pretending that I don’t see them.

I’m Not Talking To You!

You may remember that my husband likes to run a “joke” into the ground.  Even if it was never funny to begin with, he’ll keep at it in the  hopes that it’ll somehow become funny over time.  The latest thing he likes to do is respond whenever I’m talking to the baby.

Me: “Hi, little cutie!”

Husband: “Hi!”

So then I’ll roll my eyes and try again: “How’s my little baby?”

Husband: “I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

Wow, does this get annoying.  All the books say that it’s important to talk to the baby, ask her questions and try to hold a ‘conversation’ even if her side of the conversation sounds something like, “agoobahnah”.  So, I ask her questions and wait for her babbly response, which I absolutely love, and instead all I can hear is my husband responding to questions that are clearly not meant for him.

Me: “Were you a good baby today?”

Husband: “Yeah, I think I was pretty good today.”

Me: “Did you have a good poop today?”

Husband: “Well, I’m not sure that’s really something we should talk about but since you asked, yes, I did have a pretty good poop.”

Towards the end of the night, when it’s time for her bath, I pick up the baby and say, “Who’s ready for a bath?” to which my husband responds, “I am!”.  Which is ridiculous because this is the guy who only showers once every 3 days or so and will often need a reminder text to let him know that he’s gone past his non-showering limit and must bathe immediately.

This has been going on for 5 months now.  5 months.  I had really hoped that he’d be bored of this so-called line of comedy by now but he seems to be as into it as ever and I need to put a stop to it.  Perhaps I need to invent a language that only I and my daughter are in on.  Or maybe I could learn sign language and teach it to her so my husband will be completely left out of the conversation.  That’ll show him!

More Towel Troubles

Ever since we became a cliché and ran for the suburban hills as soon as we had a kid, my husband and I have been lucky enough to have two bathrooms.  Two!  (Anybody who has lived in NYC or other urban area where you’re lucky to even have a bedroom knows what a wonderful thing this is.)  The bathroom that is closest to our bedroom is upstairs but my husband can’t really use that shower because it’s at a weird angle and must have been designed for only short people so he has to use the bathroom downstairs when he decides he would like to clean himself.  (Long time readers of this blog will know that this is an infrequent occurrence, unfortunately.)  You would think this would be a great thing, right?  We each have our own separate showers and bathroom spaces, which I’ve heard is the key to a successful marriage.  But my husband really only uses his bathroom to shower and then he does everything else upstairs.  Then when he’s done drying himself, he ends up hanging his towel over the door of my shower.  Annoying, right?  But that’s not really the worst part.  What ends up happening is that the next time he goes to shower, the towel he used last is upstairs hanging over my shower door so instead of going up to get it, he simply goes to the linen closet that’s next to his bathroom and helps himself to a fresh, clean towel.  Which then promptly ends up hanging over my shower door and the cycle continues.  (Yes, I know I’ve complained about my husband’s towel habits before…what is it with him and towels?!?)

These are the towels my husband uses (once!) and leaves on my shower door.

So my husband uses a towel once.  As if he lives in a hotel!  I’ve decided that since he thinks he’s residing in a Holiday Inn, I’m going to start sending him a bill for everything he eats out of the refrigerator and call it a mini-bar tab.