I know many things for certain. This is what I'm sure of at the moment: my new pedicure looks super fantastic, everybody likes all the same things I do because my taste is impeccable, and PMS is a free ticket to get away with anything. Suck it, testosterone.
But maybe I'm not so sure of my opinions anymore; Boyfriend shook up my confidence on all three that are listed above. Right now, he's accusing the sports broadcaster of stealing his opinions, so that should tell you why I'm upset that Boyfriend's altering my perception.
Shattered Perception #1
I came home today to show off the seductive canvases that are my toenails...that's never a sentence you think you will write, but here we are. It's like I never expected to ever use the phrase, "Get your tongue out of your ass," but Mutt has a disgusting fascination with his own anus. I digress. I traipse into the apartment and do Rockette-style kicks as I enter the living room. Boyfriend doesn't take his eyes off the football game.
Uh. Hi.
Hey.
His eyes stay glued to the dudes in spandex. Not only has his missed the sight of my smashing feet, he also ignored my high kicks with chorus line precision. I wasn't a ballet dancer until I was eight for nothing. Well, that's a lie, it was for nothing. I caught sight of my can-can spectacle in the mirror, it was more in the style of my four-year-old nephew doing karate. I stop immediately, though I still think it counts as a grand entrance. No matter. When determined, I can make him notice things. I leap onto the sectional and lie down. I prop myself up on my elbows and give him the Non-Wife stare. Not being locked down by ring and by name has the advantage of an easier exit if I get sufficiently pissed off or neglected. I just need him to see the "pay attention to me or else" look on my face. Nothing. So I do what any rational woman would: I inch my feet closer and closer to him. He's not blinking. I briefly fret and wonder if maybe he died since our salutation and I was too self-involved to notice. Boyfriend eventually takes a sip of beer. He's fine...but not for long.
If only he acknowledged me when I came home, my feet wouldn't have worked their way up to his face and gripped his nose between my big toe and the others. Trust me when I say, holy flip out. How was I supposed to know that he wouldn't acquire a foot fetish while I was out today? My apologies, Boyfriend, for trying to be involved with any new interests that I imagine you collect throughout our time apart. It's called growth. Also, I've learned a valuable lesson about putting feet in your face, it's a no-no.
Shattered Perception #2
Recently, I changed my shampoo and conditioner. Boyfriend's been so busy doing old man things (building ships in bottles, muttering about news reports, combing his moustache and the like) I really didn't expect him to notice. Please note: Boyfriend doesn't have a moustache; I like fluff filler, deal with it. Like I posted last week, we're in a good groove right now, so we cuddled up on the couch to watch a movie. Cute, right? Well, that being said cute is not our thing, and any cuteness will not last. I curl up beside him on the couch and rest my head on his shoulder. This is how a lazy night with the other half is meant to be spent. I hear soft sniffs and I wonder if perhaps Boyfriend is showing the first signs of a seasonal cold. I hope he doesn't because I don't deal well with man-illness. As a Non-Wife I'm not patient and nurturing. He lifts up his left hand, the defensive/She-Hulk side of me goes on alert. If he ruins this sweet moment by wiping a drippy nose on his hand and potentially wiping that nasty hand on me that's it. I will end him. His hand comes up, but doesn't leave my field of vision. Instead, it swoops forward, palms my face like a basketball and he pushes me away from him. All I can do is go with the motion and I flop on my side like a rag doll (not of the Aerosmith variety).
You asshole. What's your problem?
Your hair stinks. What is that, dog shampoo? She-Hulk powers activate.
You thought it was WHAAAAAAAT? I will have you know that this is Shampure.
He responds with silence.
Aveda, you damn fool.
There is a gradual pause before Boyfriend speaks, Is that some foreign language for dog shampoo?
She-Hulk attack.
I was right; PMS will let you get away with anything, attempted murder included. Since this is true, it has to mean that I'm right about everything else too. Self-confidence, as well as relationship balance, restored.
Time for tea,
K
Showing posts with label Non-Wife. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Non-Wife. Show all posts
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Monday, October 22, 2012
The Non-Wife
Boyfriend and I are in the midst of a great stretch in our relationship. I feel like the blog shouldn't be all She-Hulk and death threats, but a place where I can give appreciation to Boyfriend for his goodness as well as for his ubiquitous list of shortcomings. I learned the word ubiquitous from one Mr. Bill Cosby. Is he still alive? I haven't seen a jello commercial with him in awhile. How is he faring? Googled it. He's living under an alias. His real name is William Henry Cosby Jr. That must be why so many other people think he's dead too. But he's not, and he's tired of the accusations. Allegedly.
I have to give a tip of the hat to Boyfriend for several reasons:
1) He bought me chocolate as if he knew the She-Hulk was having her lady time.
2) He made me tea when I was in the tub the other day, and I only had to demand it twice.
3) He vacuumed the apartment when Fat shred cardboard everywhere. No more cat fiestas at our place.
4) He was considerate enough to get drunk at a friend's place on Saturday night so Sunday morning I didn't have to watch football. That is, until Boyfriend realized what day it was and figuratively sodomized my Sunday morning when he came home. For the sake of the people that I know who read this I'm going to bold the word figuratively. That's a lesson you only learn thrice. Some people don't get metaphors or sarcasm and that's how rumours start and S&M freaks show up at your door. The good news about that instance was one of those fellas was selling Girl Scout cookies for his niece.
5) He lost his football picks (something about betting...?) and searched everywhere to find that piece of paper. This is happy news because it means I'm not the only loser in the house. I later found that paper in a sweater. See? Good things happen when I steal money from his pockets. Positive reinforcement on questionable behaviour? Check.
6) He didn't passive-aggressively point out that laundry needs to be done. Therefore, our dirty clothes runeth over. Literally. That pile has become a mountain that is subject to avalanches. I should put up signs for the snowboarders before they try to go down some of the runs. However, delightful news for me because I haven't done laundry in a week.
7) He's taking us to Vegas for Christmas.
8) This one is the most important of all: He bought me a typewriter. When the world ends and the power is out, I'll still be able to blog last-century style. I'll fashion the posts into paper airplanes and send them off the balcony to come find you. A story of the She-Hulk destroying Boyfriend will give you comfort at the end of the world. You're welcome.
Now, with all of this peace in the house of She-Hulk, I feel like this is a moment to decree a promotion. To myself. I will no longer be just a girlfriend, but will henceforth be referred to as the Non-Wife. Mostly because I'm not wifely and Non-Wife sounds like an awesome title to have. A Non-Wife would never be found barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. What's a kitchen? This prestigious position will not be taken lightly; I promise to uphold this made-up oath of the Non-Wife:
Never will I clean or cook. I do not own an apron, nor do I intend to. I'm not accountable, rational or fair. I will forever be frivolous, temperamental and ridiculous. A Non-Wife has the right to resist her nurturing, soft qualities and instead be a self-indulgent psycho.
Ah, yes. A period of ease in a relationship needs to be shaken up with a new title. And I got a raise. By raise I mean I've given up on stealing from his pockets and just go right for his wallet. I feel like this relationship promotion should come with a scepter or tiara. No wait. Neither. I want a giant gong. Nothing says relationship success like a giant gong.
Time for tea,
K
I have to give a tip of the hat to Boyfriend for several reasons:
1) He bought me chocolate as if he knew the She-Hulk was having her lady time.
2) He made me tea when I was in the tub the other day, and I only had to demand it twice.
3) He vacuumed the apartment when Fat shred cardboard everywhere. No more cat fiestas at our place.
4) He was considerate enough to get drunk at a friend's place on Saturday night so Sunday morning I didn't have to watch football. That is, until Boyfriend realized what day it was and figuratively sodomized my Sunday morning when he came home. For the sake of the people that I know who read this I'm going to bold the word figuratively. That's a lesson you only learn thrice. Some people don't get metaphors or sarcasm and that's how rumours start and S&M freaks show up at your door. The good news about that instance was one of those fellas was selling Girl Scout cookies for his niece.
5) He lost his football picks (something about betting...?) and searched everywhere to find that piece of paper. This is happy news because it means I'm not the only loser in the house. I later found that paper in a sweater. See? Good things happen when I steal money from his pockets. Positive reinforcement on questionable behaviour? Check.
6) He didn't passive-aggressively point out that laundry needs to be done. Therefore, our dirty clothes runeth over. Literally. That pile has become a mountain that is subject to avalanches. I should put up signs for the snowboarders before they try to go down some of the runs. However, delightful news for me because I haven't done laundry in a week.
7) He's taking us to Vegas for Christmas.
8) This one is the most important of all: He bought me a typewriter. When the world ends and the power is out, I'll still be able to blog last-century style. I'll fashion the posts into paper airplanes and send them off the balcony to come find you. A story of the She-Hulk destroying Boyfriend will give you comfort at the end of the world. You're welcome.
Now, with all of this peace in the house of She-Hulk, I feel like this is a moment to decree a promotion. To myself. I will no longer be just a girlfriend, but will henceforth be referred to as the Non-Wife. Mostly because I'm not wifely and Non-Wife sounds like an awesome title to have. A Non-Wife would never be found barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. What's a kitchen? This prestigious position will not be taken lightly; I promise to uphold this made-up oath of the Non-Wife:
Never will I clean or cook. I do not own an apron, nor do I intend to. I'm not accountable, rational or fair. I will forever be frivolous, temperamental and ridiculous. A Non-Wife has the right to resist her nurturing, soft qualities and instead be a self-indulgent psycho.
Ah, yes. A period of ease in a relationship needs to be shaken up with a new title. And I got a raise. By raise I mean I've given up on stealing from his pockets and just go right for his wallet. I feel like this relationship promotion should come with a scepter or tiara. No wait. Neither. I want a giant gong. Nothing says relationship success like a giant gong.
Time for tea,
K
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