Thursday, January 12, 2006
Beds are meant for sex and sleeping. James used the bed, twice, as a place to put his dirty, sweaty socks.
How many times have I expressed to him that I have a mild case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and I feel utterly disgusted with dirt? In fact, it makes me sick to my stomach.
I stared at his socks last night. I loathed his socks last night. I imagined choking him with the socks while he was sleeping. Instead, I decided to write him a nicely worded letter:
Please do not put your dirty socks on the bed. I find it disgusting. And besides, I just told you yesterday. Don't put me in this position.
When he came home from work I smiled and said, "There's a note for you on the table."
He looked at me with that "Oh, shit" look. You know the one-the "What did I do wrong? Do I need to pack my bags?" look.
He stared at the note. He read it silently. He looked at the table. He cleared his throat. He shuffled his feet.
"Pick up the socks!" I screamed.
Howard Hughes and I have a lot in common.
What Drives You Crazy?
Posted by Jaimie ::
3:46 PM ::
23 Peeked Into My Diary:
.:Write In My Diary:.