How I Annoy My Husband:  “Quaranteam” Edition

          “How am I annoying you during our ‘quaranteam?’”  I asked Paul several months into the Covid-19 pandemic.

          He spent the next hour listing all of the ways I had been annoying him while I scribbled them down.  I would have been hurt if I hadn’t been doing research for my next essay.  So far, he hasn’t contacted a divorce lawyer—that I know of.  Maybe he’s waiting until he can see one face-to-face.

          Paul dubbed me the “Health and Safety Czar” since I have taken it upon myself to protect us against the virus. I take my job seriously, much to Paul’s chagrin. It’s a good thing I’m retired since this is a full time job.

          After our governor called the stay-at-home order, I decided we wouldn’t go into the grocery store. We began using the online order and pick-up.  Paul didn’t mind missing our shopping trip, but I’ve been annoying him with my constant complaining about our order.

          “I ordered a large package of eight boneless skinless chicken thighs and they gave me only four thighs with bones and skins,” I whined. 

          “They gave us whole milk and yogurt, instead of low fat, and there’s no tomato sauce in this order.”After the next order, “I can’t believe they’re out of frozen stir fry vegetables and instead of spaghetti they gave us wooden toothpicks!”

          “Spaghetti and toothpicks are both long and thin except for the toothpicks,” Paul joked.

          Then he listened to my additional complaints without adding much conversation or commiseration. I get it. I do the cooking and he’s happy if there’s something to eat for dinner.

          Once he suggested, “Let’s go to the store and you can get what you want.”

          “It’s not safe. People don’t wear masks or gloves and there’s virus on everything.”

          Paul misses Costco.  Even without the free samples he likes their bargains and selection. We both miss their discounted wine, but I refuse to go there. I finally suggested we splurge and have some delivered from a local winery.  Paul balked at the price which was three times what we usually spend on a bottle.  I finally convinced him by saying we’d be supporting the local economy and we can at least have a buzz during these trying times.

          My protocol for getting our mail bothers Paul, but he goes along.  I noticed the mail carrier wearing rubber gloves, but once he actually held it with bare hands. This sent me into a panic. Now when Paul gets the mail, he holds the key in his right hand, opens our mail box with the same hand, takes out the mail with his left hand and returns to the house.  He opens the door with the right hand then washes his hands thoroughly.  We don’t open letters for 24 hours as they sit on the kitchen floor while we wait for the virus to die.  Rufus, our cat, has decided to sit on it all for some reason. I guess he’s not afraid of the virus.

         Several months ago, we ordered take out from a local restaurant.  We waited at the curb side pick-up while looking forward to a delicious meal.  The associate brought out our food in a paper sack but he wasn’t wearing gloves.  The order was missing dessert so we called about the missing item. The same man, sans gloves, brought the dessert in a plastic container.  I considered this so dangerous; I spent several minutes wiping down all the containers with Clorox wipes as soon as we brought the food home. When I accidentally touched a plate with a contaminated container as I was dumping it out, I began crying and shouted “I can’t do this, it’s too much.”  Paul gave me a hug. We never spoke of it again, but that was the last time we got take out for a few months.

          Paul is able to do his work on the computer from home, but I’m not able to do most of the things I used to do. Everything is closed now. I can’t tutor students at the local school, go to my writing class, or volunteer at the non-profit organization.  I can’t meet my friends for lunch. All my meetings were on Zoom and I was tired of looking at my self-view and silently criticizing my hair.  It’s frustrating. I know I should be grateful Paul has an income and we have food to eat, but that doesn’t stop me from complaining.

          “I’m bored” I frequently tell him while he’s trying to work.

          “Why don’t you watch The Crown?”

          “I can’t watch TV. I have too much to do.”

          Paul rolled his eyes, knowing I’ll come up with something to keep me busy eventually.

          My most important job is updating the online shopping list.  Once I place the initial order, I have a week to modify it.  And boy do I modify it.  I probably change my order 30-40 times.  Add this, omit that. Obsess about ordering this since I’ll probably not get that.  After all, we only get some of the food we need once a week.

          I call friends and family each day and chat loudly as I walk around the house dusting, sweeping, and cleaning and disinfecting the bathrooms and counters. My friends have stopped asking me what I’m doing when they hear the water running or the washing machine rumbling on my end. I do also word searches and word scrambles.

“Help! I need a three letter word using j, f, z, a, q, and w,” I tell Paul.

He always figures out the missing word.

          “Can you find ‘impossible?’”  As usual, he can find it.

          I also email and text friends and family.  I try to limit my time on Facebook since it’s a time-sink and I have too much else to do. I practice ukulele, do some writing, and try to read through the 1,000 magazines we have piled in the bathroom. I read People from cover to cover and now know who’s married to whom and how many children they have.

“Did you know Dennis Quaid is 66 and is marrying a 26-year-old?”

I tell Paul in disbelief. 

          “Nice gig if you can get it.” He answered.

           

                        

                                

How I Annoy My Husband: My Bad Parking and Unparking.

          I drive my own slightly dented car carefully to my various volunteer jobs and appointments on weekdays.  But on weekends, Paul drives his newer car as we tool around town or on trips.  I drive badly. That’s why.  I don’t get into accidents, luckily, but I often hit things with my car.  Unfortunately some of the things I have hit are other cars, including Paul’s old car and my daughter Kat’s car.  Paul and Kat were not happy, as you can imagine. 

          I gave poor Charlotte, my old blue Honda Civic, her first dent near the front headlight while I was pulling out of a parking space at the Celestial Seasoning Tea factory in Boulder, Colorado.  Kat and I had just taken a tour replete with silly hair nets, and were ready to go back to our hotel.  I pulled out too tight and my car’s front bumper got wedged in the back bumper of a massive pick-up truck. I heard the loud scraping of metal against metal and my heart skipped a beat. When I got out of the car I saw the bumpers stuck tight.

          The owner of the pick-up came out of the factory just as it happened and I began sweating profusely when I saw the size of the guy.  He was half the size of my Civic and barreling towards me. He wore a hairnet, so I assumed he had either just been on a tour himself or was one of the Celestial staff.  But the feminine touch did not diminish the sheer force of his size.

“I’m so sorry!  They’re stuck,” I said while making a sympathetic face.

          Hairnet man glared at me while his mouth tightened. He assessed the situation while Kat slouched down in her passenger seat trying to be invisible.

          “I think I can pull out. Let me try again,” I said and got back into my car.

Thankfully the cars became unstuck after another squeal of metal. 

I got out again and checked both cars.  Only mine had some damage and his pickup was fine, thank goodness.

          “Ok” he said.  A man of few words

          I dented Charlotte’s rear bumper when I backed into a tree while parking at a campsite in Ouray, Colorado.  Kat and I had spent a fun few weeks at two Colorado KOAs that summer. The tree was fine, I’m relieved to say.  I could never live with myself if I knocked down a living creature.

          Then there was the time I scratched the side of my newer car, Lena Blue, while making a long scratch on Charlotte.  I had given Charlotte to Kat for her graduation. My old car sat peacefully in the driveway and as I backed Lena out of the garage, I came too close to the other vehicle.  The loud noise brought Kat to the scene of the crime. 

          “Mom, what did you do?”

          “Oh no, I’m sorry!”

          I gave Paul’s car a long scratch as I pulled out of our current house.  It wasn’t entirely my fault.  Our handyman was working in the garage using a large loud machine to cut tiles.  He was installing our new floor.  A thick orange electrical cord stretched between his tool and the garage outlet under my car. The cord sat flat on the floor.

          “Can I drive over it, Leonardo?”

          “Jes, you will be fine,” he said with his melodic Venezuelan accent.

 I pulled out of the garage, staring at the outlet so my car didn’t yank out the cord as I drove over it.  I overcorrected to the right.

          Screech.  There was that horrible sound again as my car made a long thin scratch on the side of Paul’s older car, Drg.

          “Oh no!” Leonardo said.

I knew I had to do the responsible thing so I said, “Let’s not tell him, maybe he won’t notice.”  Leonardo grinned.  I was on my way to an appointment so I left.  Unfortunately, Leonardo told Paul soon after.  I shall never forgive that usually charming man.

          My car lost some paint on the metal surrounding the right rear tire.  We checked into the cost of body work on both cars, but it would have been about $1,000, so we forgot about it.  At least I did. 

Flat Tires

          I have often come too close to curbs while pulling into or out of parking spaces.  I hate that familiar bang while feeling the car raise several inches off the ground. I’m filled with dread as I get out and check the tire.  I did this in our local public library lot and sure enough the tire was flat as a pancake. 

          I called Paul. “Can you come help me?  My tire is flat!”

          “What did you do?” he said before rushing out of the house to change the tire.  

        Since Paul now owns a 2017 Subaru Forester, named Forest, we decided it’d be safer for him to drive more often to avoid my mishaps.

How I Annoy My Husband: Introduction

 

How I Annoy My Husband

            I’m not purposely trying to annoy my husband, at least not most of the time. I’m a happily married woman who has been with Paul for seven years, married almost four. I like to think I have a good sense of humor (although others don’t always agree), so I enjoy telling jokes and teasing my husband.  This includes annoying him. My goal is to only slightly irritate Paul, not to the point where he’s contemplating divorce.  After all, I do love the guy.

Unrelated and Annoying Comments During Sporting Events.

            My husband loves sports.  I don’t.   One of the ways I annoy him is by using incorrect terminology while he’s watching a game on TV.  Here is an actual conversation we had a few weeks ago.

            I walked into the living room where Paul was sprawled across the couch watching football. He was wearing worn blue sweat pants and a black tee shirt with the words, “Lebowsky 2020. This aggression will not stand.” on the front. A hand supported his head of disheveled hair.  The scent of green chile lingered in the air from what I assumed was a snack of cheese burrito smothered with the stuff. On the rug, his empty plate sat nearby a plastic tumbler filled halfway with water. Paul glanced at the cup every few seconds. Our cat Rufus had been slowly edging closer to the water with the aim of sticking a furry paw in it and Paul was ready to say “quit it” in a stern voice.

            Paul might have been watching the Super Bowl, but I doubted it because he hadn’t called me in to see the entertaining commercials or the halftime show. The crowd alternately cheered and booed. Large men ran in what appeared to be random directions. Hands on hips, I stood several feet away from the couch for several seconds.

 “What are you doing?”  I asked.

            “Knitting,” he answered while staring intently at the set. 

            “Ha, ha,” I said with a deadpan voice.

 I watched for several more minutes.  When I looked at Paul, I saw him glance at me to figure out what I was up to.

            “I like the purple outfits, so I hope they win.” I told him.

            Paul rolled his eyes and said, “They’re called uniforms.”

            “How many runs did they each get?”

            “They get points in football.  Don’t you have something to do?”

            Mission Accomplished!

            During a baseball game, I asked, “Who has the most balls?”

            “They’re called runs” he said.

            “I’m voting for the blue team. I like their outfits.”

“We say rooting not voting.”  He didn’t bother to correct “outfits.” He knew what I was up to.

            During a basketball game I once said the following:

“I don’t understand why Steph keeps pushing that guard out of his mouth. It’s kinda gross.  Why doesn't his wife or mother talk to him about it? “

            “Maybe they don’t care,” Paul said.

“Well, it’s not sanitary.  What if he drops it?  And look how funny he looks with the towel on his head!”

            Paul sighed loudly.

            Mission accomplished!

How I Annoy My Husband by Leaving the Lights on and more.

            I am a busy woman and a bit distractible.  I often work on accomplishing several goals at the same time-- a true multi-tasker.  I might start brushing my teeth at the bathroom sink and remember I want some  herbal tea.  I see no problem in walking to the kitchen with a toothbrush in my mouth, foam dripping down my chin and a white spot of toothpaste on my shirt. I was in the middle of brushing my teeth when I thought about the tea.  I’m sure it happens to everyone.

            Paul’s only problem with this scenario is that I left the bathroom light on when I walked out of the room.  He’ll say something like, “Oh, I’ll turn that light off for you.”  Or “I’ll turn that light off for you, young lady” depending on his mood.

            Sometimes I notice him looking towards the bedroom closet after I’ve closed it.  “I was just going to turn off that light,” I say apologetically.

            I leave lights on a lot, but it’s not on purpose.  Paul often seems to follow me around the house turning off lights.  I guess he logs a lot of steps that way.    Another scenario related to light is our preference for it. I like rooms well-lit and Paul likes them dim or completely dark.  I think he’s part cat and can still see in the dark.  My night vision is so bad I often walk into things like walls or chairs when it’s not bright in a room.  It’s not a pretty sight, but only Paul can see it. 

            Bump. Crash. “Ouch! I can’t see!” I shout and turn on the light.

            “Ugh, it’s too bright!” He complains while wincing.

            I also annoy my Paul by leaving the refrigerator open.  This is related to my multi-tasking. It often happens this way:

            I’m still half asleep as I make my breakfast.  The smell of brewing coffee fills the air. I’m wearing flannel leopard print pajamas (or the flannel pink spotted ones) and standing near the kitchen counter. I’ve put a mug of water in the microwave, Fiber One cereal in a bowl, and an orange on my plate. I need the milk so I open the refrigerator, get the milk, pour it on my cereal and leave the container on the counter.

     When the microwave dings, I get a tea bag from the cabinet, take the water out of the microwave, and drop the tea bag in my mug.  As I cut up my naval orange, I notice a chill on my back, but I figure it’s just a draft.  Paul walks into the kitchen and says, “I’ll close the refrigerator for you” or “I’ll close the refrigerator for you, young lady,” depending on his mood.

Elyse Russo, author of "Dates From Hell and Other Places," reads "Tim" in a coffee shop.

Elyse Russo at the dog park reading a poem from her new book, "Dates From Hell and Other Places: Mostly Funny Poems About My Search for Mr. Right." Dog Dan I is about meeting a man at the dog park!

Check out: 

Interview with Elyse Russo for The New Mexico Marketplace, February 2016 edition, about her book, "Dates From Hell and Other Places."

See an interview with Elyse Russo for The New Mexico Marketplace, February 2016 edition.

Check out the New Mexico Marketplace, February edition, for an interview with Elyse Russo, author of "Dates From Hell and Other Places!"

Click on this link:

http://nmmissues.communityq.com/nmmpfebruary2016/index.htm