Remember when Saint Tom made me all optimistic about getting our new den/office cleaned up?
And we all loved him and called him Saint Tom and stuff? Well, last night, he hit his breaking point.
The room-cleaning-up project’s been stalled lately. Tom had wanted me to go through some old stuff, since it’s mine after all, and I haven’t had time.
Last night he asked me if I could clean the room this weekend and I said “No, I have a deadline next week. I can do it next weekend.”
This was unacceptable because apparently he’s been trying to get me to do this for a month. Except, he hasn’t mentioned anything in over a month, so I didn’t know that it was bothering him. In fact, I remember one time, I had asked him if he wanted to help me go through that stuff and he had said no because he was too tired.
I tactfully avoided mentioning that time because I knew he’d snap: “That was ONE time.” The experience of 9 whole months of marriage has made me wise.
After I got fed up with this argument because it was like talking to a brick wall that yells back, I got quiet.
As I lay in bed, I wondered… What happened to that guy that inspired me to be optimistic that we could actually do this project? When did this get so contentious? When did this get to be my job, anyway? I thought he was proving to my cynical hardened heart that true love can overcome any mess. Why is he not being perfect right now?
Yep, that’s what was really bothering me. He was being imperfect. It annoys me when he does that, I guess.
I still wasn’t ready to talk to him because, after all, he was being kind of cranky. But he eventually charmed his way back in. I guess I’ll keep him a little longer, even if he’s not always a saint.