Someone once told me my house smelled like a Jolly Rancher. I remember it well. Let me clarify; my memory is like my hearing. Very selective. I remember someone once telling me I walk like I have a board up my ass, I remember someone telling me that when I talk my mouth moves like I’ve done several lines of cocaine (What?? Thanks!) And who could forget the brother-in-law who told me the caloric content of iced cappuccinos from Tim Horton’s. Dick. Beyond that, I can recall bits and pieces of whatever the fuck I choose apparently- or whatever my sister deems really happened. She, of course, remembers swimming out of the birth canal. But the Jolly Rancher compliment?? It always makes me smile.
I have always had a candle fetish. I like potpourri and incense and cinnamon and tend to impulse buy any new contraption promising to deliver strong scents. Gone are the days of candles alone! Wax melts? Scentsy? Wallflowers? Oil warmers? Febreeze Noticeables? Glade Plug-ins? Yep, I have them all. And God forbid when I find a scent I like. Then I must purchase the spray, the designer one-touch spray dispenser, the decorative things that look like gel, the melting candle cubes, and whatever else I have a coupon for. I am sure I would give the marketing director at Glade wet dreams. I wish I could say the same!
The husband does not bitch about much concerning the interior of the house. Not that he can. It is an unspoken agreement that it is my domain. He does not complain about the quantity of candles I purchase; nor does he give me shit about how much money I spend. Not the he knows. Another unspoken domain. But he does not (physically) pay the bills and definitely does not (physically) clean the house. So we are both happy. Except for the electrical outlets that I whore out to all my little smell good friends.
We have three kids and a dog. I do not want my house to smell like we have three kids and a dog. Therefore, I keep the 16-year-old’s door shut, a three wick candle (or three) in the kitchen, and random plug-ins throughout the house. I strive to be accommodating. I make sure I leave one attainable electrical outlet near each of our end tables to allow the husband easy access to our ever disappearing phone chargers. He still gets angry. Apparently it is a fucking inconvenience to reach BELOW my plug in and use the other outlet. Of course, this is only when he is sitting on a certain part of the couch. If the charger is plugged into the bottom outlet, it does not quite reach past the arm of the couch which causes the husband to have to tilt his head slightly to the left. Which apparently hurts his fucking neck. If I move the plug in to the bottom outlet, this hinders his ability to smoke a cigarette in the garage while using his charging phone. This also causes him to have to more pronouncedly tilt his head. Yes- I realize that a longer cord for the charger might solve this issue, but
1. I REFUSE to buy anymore fucking chargers. We have had seven I-phones in the past year and I still have purchased three new chargers; two of which we have left that the five of us fight over daily.
2. It would still piss him off. Like he mistakenly believes that the electrical outlets are his domain.
My solution? Charge your fucking phone before you use it. The husband charges his phone like he puts gas in his car; only when it is below empty or at two percent.
So tonight the husband moved my plug in to another outlet. When I noticed, I moved it back. I figured one of the kids had moved it. Nope. So we argued about it for a few minutes. I tried to rationalize. I pointed out the fact he still had an available outlet but made the mistake of pointing out the laziness I associate with his lack of understanding. I know it was a silly argument. No matter. He is in bed and I am on the couch enjoying my last Bass. I will meander upstairs eventually; but I am sleeping with my clothes on tonight.