As I was brushing my teeth last night:
“So. I was reading your blog and your husband sounds like a real asshole! What the hell is his problem?”
Oops!
After I finished spluttering and saying things like “Bdddo!” and other, spitty, toothpastey denials I decided I have to come here and make things absolutely clear.
Regarding this post:
We aren’t trying to get pregnant. In fact, we’ve had several Groundhog Day discussions wherein we discuss (or rather, he revisits the sailent points) that, while we both love the idea of having number two sometime soon, we simply can’t afford day care for two.
Thus, another child at this point would mean me going back to work full-time, and what that would mean is the past two years of blood, sweat and tears would be wasted. I need to graduate school. It’s important for the future of our family.
We’ll be looking at number two when the end of my graduate school career is in sight. So, likely two and a half years from now; which is not far into the future. And this is something we’ve agreed to together.
So I was not trying to get pregnant, I didn’t think I was pregnant, and hadn’t talked to the Troublemaker about it at all. Then suddenly I sprung on him that I had my period and I was sad, and instead he was fine because he hadn’t been thinking about number two and number two right now would either break us financially or put a big old skid-mark on our plans for the immediate future.
He’s lovely. He is sorry that I’m sad and that we can’t afford to have another right now, even though our not being able to have one has not got anything to do with him saying yes or no.
The other post is this post:
I, obviously, want a dog. I crave a dog. Having a dog is a thing with me. Having a dog is a BIG thing with me. I begged for a dog when I was a kid and begged and begged and begged.
Eventually we got Watson, who was the very best dog ever. He was my best friend. He was the best dog that ever was. He died of cancer the summer after my first year of college and I still talk to Watson in my dreams. He was goofy and silly and kinda stinkey and he ate the crotches out of my underpants, but he was awesome.
The thing is, we adopted Joey. I loved Joey, but he was a lot more work than Mr. Watson. Beagles take a certain kind of owner, and I am NOT a beagle owner. Joey was also the Troublemaker’s first dog. He was not a good first dog to have.
So The Troublemaker doesn’t want a dog and I do. And it’s all tied up for me with my past and the divorce and being a grownup. So The Troublemaker is giving in and we are getting a dog. Because, again, he loves me and is awesome.
It’s not my fault! It’s my family!
That’s right, peeps. Living with me can be like living with Chinese water torture. Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, until you give in. My cat is a miss Polly Prissypants, and I am Pretty Pretty Princess Poopyhands. I want what I want when I want it, and when I want it is NOW.
This is something that runs in the girls in my family. There are three of us, and we are amazing and independent and intelligent and fairly devoted to the imediate gratifications in life. We expect good things to happen and, while we’re willing to work, none of us take easily to the word “no”. Honestly, don’t even try it. The ensuing outrage and nitpicking will make you want to drive a pickaxe through your cranium.
The Troublemaker lives with this on a daily basis. He was busy caving to me last night over dinner and said,
I hate that my choices are either get nagged to death until I say “yes”. Or saying “yes”.
Poor man. And I’m not saying that tongue-in-cheek. It’s absolutely amazing that I found someone who will not only put up with my neverending weirdo immediate gratification tendancies, obsessive-compulsive behavior, and health nightmares; but I found someone who puts up with it, works with it, and loves me dearly anyhow.
Of course, he mostly gets anything he wants as well. Because he’s cute and likewise is used to getting his way.
Just, not being a non-dog household; that’s all.
He’s frequently exhasperated and amused by me all at once, and usually resorts to giving in and grumbling good-naturedly. Which means that not only is he rockstar-cool, he’s totally my best friend and not an asshole in any way.
Just so everyone knows.
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