Organization, filing, and psychosis...

So, the other day, just before a certain aunt by the name of "Flo" came to visit, I had a little fit. I was cleaning, cleaning, cleaning. Putting away, putting away, putting away. Filing, filing filing......Because this is what I do every month just before she shows up.

Studmuffin had the misfortune of being home on this certain day. "I swear I am the only human being that feels any need to put stuff away in this house. Everyone just walks in, drops everything, and parks their butts on the couch. I hate that stupid TV. Every time I turn around it's on again."

Okay, so I wish I could lie and pretend I wasn't being the utter shrew that I was totally being. As far as the TV thing goes, I grew up in a home with very limited TV. If someone came to the door, the TV was turned off immediately. It had to be turned off unless someone was sitting in front of it, actively watching. It was turned off for every single meal. My dad called it the "idiot box," and in fact one time the TV was broken, and not replaced for a very long time. I cannot tell you how long, because that was when my sister Dawn was still in junior high, so that would have put me at a preschooler. But, I do know the entire school voted my parents the meanest parents in school over the debacle.

Studmuffin grew up in a home where the TV was on all of the time. Meals were eaten in front of the TV. As a matter of fact, my in-laws NEVER TURN OFF THEIR TV!! Never. They claim it won't turn back on. Whatever. I feel like I'm in sensory overload half the time when I'm at their house....

We have limited TV in this house. 1 hour per day for the girls. No TV while we eat unless it's Survivor night, and that means Survivor and pizza, baby! It's a beautiful thing, I'm tellin' ya.

So. The TV annoys me. I consider it a bad influence and a good excuse to sit and stare into space. And it makes me snackish. I swear, 10 minutes in front of the TV, and I'm wanting chips and salsa.....It annoys me to see people sitting around watching it, doing nothing. Never mind that I may have spent 3 hours that day reading. Reading is something, not nothing. That's my story....



But, back to my original fit, and the impending visit....Studmuffin was sitting at the bar as I was having this rant. He made a gesture and said, "Well, I've tried to organize that many times, and I've given up."

Huh? I looked at the area he gestured to, pictured above, and said, "What do you mean? The microwave? The laundry room?"

"The craft cabinet!"

Okay, at this point I think I became incoherent, but I fear that what I said is something along the lines of, "FOR THE LOVE OF PETE! I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT THE CRAP CABINET! THE CRAP CABINET IS A CRAP CABINET BECAUSE IT'S FULL OF THE GIRLS CRAFT STUFF AND IT WILL NEVER BE ORGANIZED!!!! I'M TALKING ABOUT THE REST OF THE BLOODY HOUSE. THE HOUSE WHERE EVERYONE DROPS EVERYTHING AND NOBODY PUTS ANYTHING AWAY UNTIL I TELL THEM TO! THAT IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!"

And, yes, I call my girls craft cabinet the "crap" cabinet. Forgive me. I'm just letting all of my imperfections hang out here....

Studmuffin responded the same way he usually responds to any time he thinks I'm overreacting. Okay, one of two ways. One way is to roll his eyes at me and walk away. This is the preferable method, because it usually leaves me feeling shallow and petty and sick at my stomach, so I will chase after him and apologize for being a witch....

But he did not respond in this manner. NOooooo.... He chose the worse response. He instead responds like this: He patronizes me. He begins to rub my arms, or hug all over me, or say stupid stuff like, "Oh, honey, don't get yourself all worked up. You're getting all excited over nothing. Just calm down....." And it goes on and on and on. And he keeps trying to hug and kiss on me, or tickle me, or anything he can think of to torment me because he likes to see me mad. And he thinks I'm being ridiculous (and obviously, I'm never ridiculous.) He thinks it's cute to see me get so worked up. I don't get it. I am usually so angry that I'm sweating and my heart's racing and my face is purple, and I swear to you that if I had something in my hand I'd throw it at him, no matter what it was. But he has my arms pinned to the side because he just wants to "hug me to show me how much he loves me," and I'm trying to head butt him, or spit on him, or kick him (okay not really), but anything I can think of to get him to leave me the heck alone, and then the girls hear the ruckus, so they join in, and I have to relent or look like a complete imbecile, when all I really want to do is throw a good heavy cast iron skillet at him.......

How absurd is that?