The 1.5%

Remember how I love my husband, like, a lot? And that I really, really adore him 98.5% of the time and the other 1.5% I want to stab him in the face?

Last night was the other 1.5%.

I have an audit this week. Yes, another one. I was/am feeling really antsy and uncomfortable about the whole thing because frankly? I do not test well. Have I prepared for this particular audit as much as humanly possible? Well, yes. Do I feel ready? Um, no. Because I don't like situations in which I don't really know what's going to happen. Call it human nature, or call me a freak. Either way.

For several weeks, including over Christmas, I've had a low-grade anxiety regarding this. Not that I didn't think the auditors would come in and find problems and not that I wasn't already fully, completely, 100% aware of the problems that we have. I mean, DUH. I know, right? It's basically just explaining to the 200th person, "Yes. We have problems. Yes. We know about the problems. Perhaps if you could stop auditing us every single freaking month then we might have time to, you know, actually FIX some of these problems instead of writing condition reports on ourselves explaining how messed up we are."

But I'm not allowed to say that.

Anyway, the point is, I've been anxious.

Also? Other things have been making anxious. The whole thing that happened on Friday? Sent me to the ceiling. The work I've been doing in therapy? Catapulted me to the roof. And also? I'm on Weight Watchers and if I have to calculate one more Points value? Well, I might do physical harm to someone.

But I've been really making a sincere effort to be a better wife. Because that's one of those things I want to be, despite how the outside world is going. In my house and in my heart, I want to be a better wife.

So yesterday, I mentioned very casually that I needed to go to the market. For a quick trip so, basically, the children would have lunch today.

And so it began.

Jason: "Hey Babe, since you are going to the grocery store can you please get 8 gallons of water?"

Okay, so we drink a lot of water. Eight gallons lasts us about a week. Okay, fine.

Jason: "Oh, and also baby? Can you please get me some orange juice?"

He's been sick. Fine. He needs orange juice.

Okay, what he actually needs is to take his ass to the doctor. But he hasn't, and probably won't because clearly, orange juice cures everything.

But fine. Orange juice.

Jason: "Oh and since you are going? Can you buy me some cigarettes?"

GOOD. GOD.

I argued that one, a bit, because I really don't like buying cigarettes. I just don't. The sheer amount of money that is spent on them makes me really, really twitchy. And also? I don't smoke. So it makes me irritated when the store I'm at doesn't have them and I have to drive to YET ANOTHER store and get them.

But fine. I'm being a good wife, right? So I agree to get the cigarettes, IF the store I am at has them. If not, I will not make another trip. Because, you know, he leaves the house every single day and he can go elsewhere and get them, if need be.

So I take Boy Child to the store. Boy Child wants to play, "Guess what animal I am!" which is a game he made up and I completely suck at. I always say something like, "I'm big and I live in Africa," and he's all like, "An elephant!" and then the game is over. And he always picks dinosaurs and bugs, and I know nothing about either of those.

We get all of our crap, including the offending cigarettes, and come home. I'm trying to carry all this crap into the house and I realize that Jason had decided to take a nap.

Okay, fine. He's sick and he's been working a lot. I will not think, oh, not even to MYSELF, that I've worked just as much as he has and perhaps even more and I would really love to have a nap.

Instead, I busy myself putting away the groceries, lugging in the 8 gallons of water, and making dinner.

Later, I am tired. Very tired. I don't sleep well, particularly with looming audits, but I am tired and I go to bed at around 10pm. I fell asleep with the television on, as I often do, and I woke up at around 1am and turned it off since it was annoying me.

Jason came into the room around 1:30am, and turned the television back on.
At 2am? He decided to take a shower.

Now, can I just mention that our bathroom is IN our bedroom? Meaning that there is no other entrance unless you go through our bedroom?

Yeah.

Then, at about 3am he opened the bathroom door, all the lights going, and was standing there in front of the mirror.

Brushing his beard.

NO, I AM NOT KIDDING.

I gave him a look that basically said, "OH MY GOD I WILL KILL YOU," and he said, "I'm sorry! The bathroom was all hot and I had to open the door to let the steam out."

I said, "OH MY GOD, I WILL KILL YOU. TURN OFF THAT LIGHT RIGHT NOW!"

He said, and I swear to Frog, I cannot even MAKE THIS STUFF UP, "Then I won't be able to see to brush my beard."

NO, I AM NOT KIDDING.

I said, very calmly,"Jason, if you do not turn out that light RIGHT NOW you will have to extract that hairbrush from your ass. And also? Probably my foot."

He turned the light out.

And apologized.

Still.

He is so lucky my foot is not in his ass.

Also? It's a good thing that "being a good wife" was one of my goals and nothing set in stone. Because really? I can only be so good.