YOU CAN'T LIVE WITH THEM

YOU CAN’T LIVE WITH THEM

And you just can’t shoot them!

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In the beginning

They always aim to please

They serve a purpose

They fill a need

They ensure survival of the species

*

Well, you can't beat 'em up

'Cause they're bigger than you;

You can't live with 'em

And you just can't shoot 'em

*

Men!

I'm talkin' 'bout men.

(Song by the Forester Sisters)

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I borrowed part of this song for this little tidbit. It’s better than borrowing a gun! AARGH!!! He has me so aggravated, today!

However, today is just like most days in this house. The only problem is that it’s getting worse and it’s cutting my patience short.

Husband is in the kitchen (our SMALL kitchen) making himself a cup of tea. Ok, that’s great. At least he’s making it instead of asking me to stop what I’m doing to make it for him. Unfortunately, he NEVER, no, not once, ever asks if I’d also like a cup of tea. Huh!

While he’s making his tea, he stands in front of the counter where our Keurig is waiting for the water to heat. Why? The water will heat whether he stands there or not. But he stands there, watching the Keurig, taking up space, which means now I’ll have to wait for him to move so I can make my lunch. (Yes, I asked him if he was hungry. He isn’t. He only wants his tea … buy, hey, I did ask now, didn’t I?)

Husband says: “You forgot to buy honey.” He likes honey in his tea.

I respond: “I did. It’s in the pantry.”

Husband walks to the pantry, opens the door. Stands there waiting for the jar of honey to jump up and down while screaming, “Here I am? See me?”

He says it isn’t there. I tell him to look right next to the sugar canister. “You can’t miss it,” I say.

“I still don’t see it,” is his reply.

I walk to the pantry, reach in, grab the honey, and hand it to him.

“It’s not the same bottle as last time.”

I tell him, “it’s still bee honey (not clover, oh heaven forbid) just a different bottle.”

“Why?”

“Because this one was on sale. Honey is still honey, no matter who manufactures is. It’s still made primarily by bees!”

He’s already walked away.

I gave up on my lunch. I’m no longer hungry but I say to him, “By the way, I’m making shrimp scampi for dinner, tonight.”

The look on his face, as my grandmother used to say, “could stop a clock”!.

“What’s the matter?” I ask.

Husband replies, “I don’t like all that grease.”

I remind him, “It’s the same way I make it all the time. It’s your daughter’s recipe. You’ve always said how good it is.”

He says, “I don’t like all that grease.”

Again, I remind him that I got the recipe from his daughter and there is hardly any grease in it.”

Now, again, he reminds me that he doesn’t want all the grease.

“Fine,” I say, trying to keep my temper under control. “When you decide what you want for dinner, tell me. Until then, there will be NO dinner.”

He walks away with his tea, sits at the kitchen table with his book.

An hour later, I’m still waiting to hear what I need to take out of the freezer. OH well!

This isn’t the first time he’s done this. Unfortunately, it’s usually at the last minute when it’s too late to thaw something. That’s when he will say, “How about Chinese food, or pizza?” Huh! What about all THAT grease? HUH?

Yes, I could always take out a container of the spaghetti sauce I made and nuke that until it’s no longer frozen. (I make my sauce in two-month batches and freeze it in individual bowls.) I already know what he’d say. “Didn’t we just have spaghetti two weeks ago?” Yeah, we did, when he couldn’t decide what he wanted to eat and everything I mentioned was nixed out of the conversation.

I know, I know! He’s at that age now, (83 in February) when he will nit-pick on everything. Does that really mean I have to like it? Oh, heck no! I’ve already told him that if he doesn’t like what I want to cook, he can take over the stove.

What the heck was I thinking when I said that??!! He only knows how to cook one meal and when he makes it, he makes enough for four people! I portion it up and freeze the portions we won’t be eating that night. However, you should see the sink with all the dishes he thought he’d need to cook the one meal. Yikes! What a mess – and no, he does not clean up after himself. Once supper is done, he’ll head for the couch and watch his Netflix!

Oh, and before you ask, the many, I mean MANY times when I ask him what he’d like for dinner and he says, “I don’t know,” I’ve asked him how to cook it. “Cook what?” he asks. I answer with, “You said you wanted ‘I don’t know’ for supper. When you tell me how to cook ‘I don’t know”, I’ll make it.” He has proven to me that his sense of humor lacks in that direction.

Here I am, now, in the mid-afternoon, still wondering what to make for tonight’s dinner.

Huh! Maybe I’ll just use the shrimp (already cooked) and make shrimp cocktail and let him stuff himself on that!

Nope, not filling enough. I’d pull my hair out in frustration, but I’ve already lost so much of it because of diabetes. I don’t plan on being bald because he can’t figure out what he wants to eat.

As the Forester sisters sang,

“Well, you can't beat 'em up

'Cause they're bigger than you

You can't live with 'em

And you just can't shoot 'em

Men! I'm talkin' 'bout men!