Having recently celebrated our First Year Wedding Anniversary (I know, where has the time gone!?) I have been reflecting a lot on our previous first year as a married couple. For the most part, I would say that Warr and I are quite unusual - in that over this year, there has only been
one major argument that I can remember.
Yes, like any two normal people who spend a lot of time in each other's company - we have differences of opinions - but for the most part we have learnt, and are learning, to communicate well with each other - and I think it is what makes our relationship so successful. In any case, after moving into our very first "husband and wife house" we had
the one major difference-of-opinion-session that I can remember from our first year. As a special treat for you, I have decided to document the argument exactly as it happened - and you can pick your own side.
After first moving in, we were in such a wonderful-loved up state of
"OH LOOK AT US IN OUR MARRIED HOUSE TOGETHER!" that we failed to adhere to the normal day-to-day functions of living in a house. Meaning: we failed to enquire as to the proper refuse disposal rules of the very orderly block of flats that me moved into, in the fancy part of Wimbledon. As such, in a very short while, we accumulated approximately several small mountains worth of garbage in our kitchen - with no idea where to put it. And by "several small mountains" - I mean - two weeks worth of steaming, stenching garbage. It was time to ask a neighbour and find out how to dispose of our trash. Warren came back to break the news one Saturday evening and it wasn't pretty:
{Side note: diagram shows only two garbage bags. Two garbage bags is significantly different compared to the
two-weeks-worth-of-garbage-bags we were
actually dealing with.}
{it's the kind of garbage that you have to breathe through your mouth}
But you know what, I decided that since it was getting late in the evening - and we still needed to organise dinner, and I was
obviously still in that
idiotic wonderful-loved-up-state which made me want to sacrifice myself, I made a deal with the husband:
Given that we all know my
history of disaster in the kitchen - this seemed like a very logical approach. Husband was not convinced:
#seemslegit
Warr: I really think we should just do it together - and then when it's done, we can both help out with dinner.
Me: No - it's really fine - I promise you! You go and get your cook on, I will do this quickly! I really don't mind.
Warr: I think we should do the rubbish stuff together.
Me: No, I promise you - I will do it! - I really don't mind! I
want to do it!
* * * * *
Now, it may have been the fact that I was up to my elbows in a pile of steaming garbage juice (think sticky-half-empty cans, leftover slimy potatoes and take away curries, tubs growing new species and half-empty-yogurt-with-spores); It may have been the horrific stench and it's involuntary-gag-reflex-trigger. Or, it may have been my fingers touching warm-un-identified-piles-of-
stuff, it may even have been hearing Warren and his SMUG CHOPPING in the kitchen - but something inside my brain snapped and I suddenly realised -
And, I let it be known with a large amount of tears and wild-screaming directed at husband who had dutifully taken up his place in the kitchen -
Self: I KNOW what I said!! Don't tell me what I said!!! Don't you think I know what I said?! Why should YOU have all the fun?! Look at you and your SMUG CHOPPING! HOW VERY DARE YOU!!
Warr: ... but.. i thought...
Self: Why should YOU be the one who gets to do the CHOPPING!!! I ALSO WANT TO CHOP SHIT!!
Warr: ... that's why I wanted to do it tog...
Self: DON'T INTERRUPT ME WHEN I'M YELLING!!
Warr: ....I thought you said....
Self: Why can YOU be the one cooking in the kitchen - doing all the FUN CHOPPING and I HAVE TO BE THE ONE TO CLEAN THE SHITTY GARBAGE!! WHY DID YOU MAKE ME DO THE SHITTY JOB?!?!! WHY?!?!
Self: WHO AM I?!?!?! WHAT AM I TO YOU EVEN?!?! AM I JUST THE HOUSEHOLD SLAVE?! THIS RELATIONSHIP ISN'T WORKING!! WE SHOULD END THIS RIGHT NOW!!! WE NEED TO BREAK UP!!!! YOU TAKE ME FOR GRANTED AND FORCE ME TO DO ALL THE SHITTY GARBAGE JOBS!!! THIS IS THE WORST. I HATE MY LIFE!!!!
Warr: ... um... but....
* * * * *
In the rageful sequence that followed - we confirmed that sorting two weeks worth of garbage juice is indeed the SHITTEST JOB IN THE WORLD. We also confirmed that far worse than week-old-curry and yogurt steaming at you - is a partner steaming at you. After a short while, we cooled off (by "we" I mean "me" - the one who had very-willingly volunteered myself for garbage duty). I can't even tell you how this episode was resolved, because quite honestly - I had genuinely and gladly volunteered myself for garbage duty and then decided to get PISSED OFF that I was on garbage duty - which, when written in a sentence like that, makes one realise what a nincompoop one is. By the end of the evening, we had not only apologised to each other - but went 360 degrees and ended up legitimately fighting over who should sort out the garbage so as to save the other.
Actually, sometimes - we are more sickly sweet than steaming garbage piles.
Whatever, I'll take it.
The moral of the story is: marry a man who has a calm understanding of "the crazies" and the patience of Ghandi. (Warren Dyer is such a man - but too bad for you, he's taken.)
And secondly, always, ALWAYS, find out about your garbage disposal rules before you move in.
