As I have mentioned many times, I am married to a Very Appropriate Man.
I don't mind this, necessarily. Most of the time, even though I am more along the lines of Wildly Inappropriate, his appropriateness does not bother me. Frankly, I would much rather him sit quietly and listen thoughtfully and respond tactfully as opposed to being one of those guys you see on Cops with no shirts on who are yelling and/or crying because they've been pulled over and they "Didn't do nuthin'!"
I mean, there could be some middle ground, maybe. I don't know. I deal with what I have.
Yesterday Jason comes home, extremely insulted.
"Can you believe," he asked me, "that my boss asked me to go the restroom when I blow my nose?!"
"The NERVE OF THAT BITCH!" I said, sarcastically.
"I know!" he said, completely missing the sarcasm, as usual.
I sighed. "Jason. For the love of God. Just go to the bathroom when you blow your nose. It grosses some people out."
I mean me? No. Snot does not gross me out. Vomit does not gross me out. Brain surgery and childbirth? Not gross. Someone could hack up a kidney in front of me and I'd be like, "Do you need a napkin?"
It's hard to gross me out.
But I get that some people don't want to hear you blowing your nose. I do. I respect that.
Jason, however, looked even more wounded that I was not taking his side and declared, "But! But! The bathroom is RIGHT NEXT to the office! It's like ten steps away!"
So I smiled, and nodded. Because I was losing this battle, for sure.
"AND! AND!" he said, more excited than he was on our wedding day, "I had to hear Coworker VOMIT THE OTHER DAY!"
"You should file a lawsuit," I said, quite seriously.
He doesn't think I'm funny at all.