Today, just like every other day, I went down to my kitchen and was immediately annoyed by the espresso machine sitting on the counter. This is one of those small ones that has a very nice, secure home inside the cupboard – mainly because having cluttered counters also annoys me.
As I was putting it away (again) and not-so-gently closing the cupboard door, I was asking myself (again) why is it impossible for my husband to put away the espresso machine when he’s done. I mean, the spot for it is literally a foot above the counter. Then I had the most amazing epiphany! He doesn’t leave it out to purposely get under my skin. Maybe, in fact, he leaves it out so I can share in the coffee duties. You see, he gets up every morning, goes into the kitchen, pulls down that espresso machine, grinds fresh beans, makes me an Americano, and delivers it to me in bed along with the daily paper.
Oh, just stop right there, I know what you’re thinking. ‘How can she complain when she has such a nice husband? I wish MY husband would do that.’ And their lies the very essence of my dilemma. Really, how can I be angry or annoyed? Well, sit back, ’cause there is more to this story. You see my darling husband is akin to a National Treasure. (start violin music here) He has a tremendous fan base who will go to their death claiming he is the nicest man on the planet. (pause for opening of the heavens) He is ridiculously talented, but remains kind in a business that can be anything but warm and fuzzy (TV). He once made Mother’s Day dinner for three of my friends because their husbands were traveling. (and cue the angles singing). He volunteers at our son’s school. He walks my mom to the gate when she flies. I mean, come on, this is THEE Mr. Nice Guy.
So, again, why or how could I possibly ever be critical, angry, annoyed? Really? Because living together is HARD! Everyone of you know 24-7 is a long time to be charming, sweet, perfect. And besides, you’ve never seen his feet!
OK, back to the point. My real issue of the moment is why am I more annoyed than usual! I could just blame it on my natural bitchiness that rears its ugly head from time to time. Or I could ride the ‘peri-menopause’ wave and put the blame there. As an aside, does anyone know how long one can actually get away with using that as an excuse? I’d like to know.
Before I invested too much time on this issue of national security.. just as clearly as if written on the wall in front of me, it comes to me. I blame the decaf. You see, as perfectly delicious as my husband is, he only serves decaf. I think it is his way of keeping us healthy. And it is decaf with no milk or cream for me, because months ago I said I’m giving up dairy. And you thought he was perfect…
Alas, I couldn’t even enjoy my realization over a steaming cup of black decaf since this generous coffee-making thing is a one cup a day deal with him, . About the same time the epiphany hit, the dog peed on the carpet… and the door was literally one foot in front of her.