My husband and I have been married for 5 years, co-habitating for 7 and in a relationship for 12. That’s pretty impressive stats for a couple in their 30’s. However in spite of many years of trying to ‘house-train’ my beloved it’s still a bit living with a cute, yet very messy puppy.
When I first met hubby he lived out of his bedroom. His entire wardrobe was strewn across the floor (it also sadly consisted of mainly Adidas jogging bottoms and Reebok sweatshirts.) He had two functional wardrobes in his room which stood agape, empty and bereft, confused by the way they had been disregarded for a patch of carpet.
Under his bed hid the remnants of his meals for the last week like a sort of living food diary At times the mould left to grow on his disguarded cutlery led me to believe it was actually alive and may well pack up and leave in search of a dishwasher. “Come on, for forks sake, let’s get out of here”.
Untold horror was to be found. A plate with tell tale stains of spaghetti sauce, a McDonalds wrapper, a half eaten potato waffle and a take out Burger King bag. His desk would continued the story, with toast crumbs, sandwich crusts and crisp packets scattered throughout.
I remember the first time I cooked a meal for hubby (to be) and his father. Not sure of their taste buds (later to be defined as non-existent) I stuck to something simple-Spag Bol. “Spaghetti? What like the hoops you get in a tin?” was their response. Hubby also let it be known at this point that he didn’t eat vegetables-at all! Oh dear, drastic measures were needed.
Moving on to bathroom etiquette, please tell me, do all men have an inability to change the loo roll? Every time I go to the little girls room, I’m like Mother Hubbard and the roll is bare! And I won’t even begin to discuss the old toilet seat dilemma. I know it’s the same in every household anyway and a complaint as old as Madonna, so I conceeded this point early on.
So 12 years on and what have I accomplished?
Upon buying our house I insisted we convert the spare room into a walk in wardrobe in order to ensure clothes were always put away with no excuses. And they are: because after I’ve picked his clothes up off the floor where he has left them, washed and dried them, I always hang them up. I guess that’s what we call compromise. On the plus size his taste in clothes have improved and he now dons a shirt and jeans rather than sports wear, but I guess that’s largely because I do all his clothes shopping for him.
Diet wise, progress is slowly forthcoming. He will now eat carrots, if coerced, served as part of a roast dinner and drowned in gravy. I’m working on peas next but he seems wise to my attempts and so far all efforts have proved futile. I can however, now cook Spaghetti Bolognaise and pasta etc full of mushrooms, peppers, onions and so on and he will eat it…after he has picked out everything that isn’t meat based.
So 12 years down the line and have we really moved forward? Perhaps not, but then if he was a veg loving, clean freak maybe I wouldn’t have married him. I love you hubby-crumbs and all!
PS: another win for me is that we now have a downstairs toilet, which I have designated his loo…toilet seat up as much as he pleases, whereas my upstairs bathroom remains lid down with not an empty toilet roll tube in sight-wedded bliss.