Tattle Tale

Bal’s side of the bed has always been messy. I’m no clean queen either so it hasn’t bothered me too much. But in a recent room rearrangement, whereby we had to move our computer into an already smallish room, I had hoped he’d keep it a little cleaner. If only because when we Skype, the camera peers directly into his side of the bed. To help out his cause I even placed a laundry basket in the immediate, and I do mean immediate, vicinity. Bal, obviously, does not care about Skype, convenience or my sanity.

Proof:

Messy Bal

Note Empty Laundry Basket and Not-so-Empty Floor

These are the things that make me a remarkable woman people. That I can live with this, day in and day out, FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE! That, along with him putting plates of food-filled dishes in the sink, being the messiest cook EVER, and assuming daily what I am about to say but not once, ever, in our entire existence of knowing each other, being right. He is one lucky bastard. And I might just send him the link to this post everyday for the next month just to remind him so.

***

Normally, I do not nitpick about my husband on my blog. Make fun of him a little, yes. But not embarrass him with his ugly little bad habits. I feel justified this time for two reasons.

1. Sometimes venting allows me to get over my being annoyed. I figure he’d rather I slam him on my blog than slam him in the head with the dirty frying pan.

2. He does not have a blog and thus can not get me back in a similarly public forum.

Only he can dammit. I just realized that he can tell all of his 400 some odd ‘friends’ on Facebook exactly ‘what’s on his mind’. I can foresee it now:

Bal is tired of being tripped and caught up in bras left at random places on the floor. And if I have to deal with it, couldn’t they at least be lace? Or black? Or see through and on a stripper?!!

Bal is sick of hearing about yeast infections, armpit rashes and sore pelvises. He just wants a willing vagina. Any takers?!

Bal is wanting a wife from the 50’s. She’d cook my meals, clean up after my sorry ass, and fake orgasms. And oh those poodle skirts…

Whereby all 400 ‘friends’ would like this (with those obnoxious thumbs up) because really people, who of any of us, wouldn’t like a 50’s housewife to cook, clean and pretend we are phenomenal specimens?

What I am trying to say, my love, is this:

Tattle-tale, tattle-tale
If you want a piece of tail,
cleaning is your only fee,
as long as you can wait for me to pee!
(pregnancy is so sexy can’t you see?!)

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