Anybody Else’s Husband Get on Their Nerves as Much as Mine?
Sometimes I wonder if there’s a secret class husbands take before marriage called How to Drive Your Wife Insane 101. Because honestly, if there is, mine graduated top of the class—probably even with honors. Don’t get me wrong, I love him to death. He’s my partner, my teammate, my person. But oh boy, some days, he tests my patience like a toddler with a permanent case of the “whys.”
For starters, let’s talk about selective hearing. This man can hear a YouTube video playing three rooms away but can’t hear me ask him to take the trash out when he’s sitting five feet from me. “You never said that,” he’ll claim. Oh, I did say that. Multiple times. With eye contact. And probably hand gestures. Yet somehow, those requests get swallowed by the mysterious black hole that lives in his brain.
Then there’s the laundry situation. If it were up to him, dirty socks would grow into a colony and take over the living room. I don’t know how it’s physically possible to leave a trail of clothes from the front door to the bedroom like some kind of adult Hansel and Gretel, but apparently, he’s perfected the art. The man owns a hamper. I’ve pointed it out to him repeatedly, like a tour guide on the world’s most boring museum trip: And here we have the rare and underappreciated laundry basket—notice its convenient placement just three steps from where you dropped your jeans.
And don’t even get me started on the thermostat wars. He thinks sixty-eight degrees is “perfectly comfortable.” I, on the other hand, am not a penguin. I’d like to not wear three layers indoors just to survive. Marriage, I’ve discovered, is really a lifelong negotiation of blankets, fans, and passive-aggressive thermostat adjustments.
Of course, food habits are another battleground. My husband will open the fridge, stare for thirty seconds, and then declare, “We have nothing to eat.” Meanwhile, I’m standing behind him pointing at chicken, veggies, and leftovers that could easily be a meal. He acts like food needs to magically assemble itself into a cheeseburger before it qualifies as edible. But hand the man a grill, and suddenly he’s Gordon Ramsay.
And yet, here’s the funny thing: for every time he makes me want to pull my hair out, he finds a way to make me laugh at myself. The same guy who “forgets” to do the dishes will remember to bring me chocolate after a rough day. The one who leaves socks everywhere is also the one who warms up my car in the winter so I don’t freeze.
So yes, my husband drives me up the wall on a daily basis. But if I’m being honest, I wouldn’t trade him. Because the truth is, his quirks and habits—while maddening—are also what make him him. And maybe the fact that we irritate each other sometimes is proof that we’re real, imperfect humans just figuring this marriage thing out together.
Still, if he could learn how to put his socks in the hamper without me asking, that’d be great.
