I'm sitting here in my bedroom typing, curled up in bed because my feet are so cool, I can hardly move them. I already have two pairs of socks on and I'm contemplating a third. It's not like I live back East where they snow is falling by the feet. I live in Southern California and I get cold in the low 70's. If their is a slight breeze that rattles the leaves in the trees, I'll go in a get a jacket.
To make me think warm, I have my video of a crackling fire on that a friend gave me for Christmas. Does she know me, or what? I love this thing! The only downfall with it that I can find is that as the fire dies down, I have to fight the need to want to poke it back to life.
Now that I'm warm, or at least mentally getting there, I'm ready to ask the question of the ages-how lazy do you have to be to NEVER put the toilet paper roll on. I mean never. It's right there for God sakes. After 13 of marriage, I'm still bothered by it sitting on the sink, literally inches from the holder. When we were first married, I thought maybe he suffered from a nasty spring action loader innocent somewhere back in his childhood and the idea of replacing it sends him into flashbacks, so I thought I'd make it easier for him by replacing the holder with one of the easy one sided holders. All you have to do it slide it on. Does he do it?
I'm even going to complain about the damn toilet seat. I bet if he had to squat in the dark, half asleep and put his butt down on an Arctic porcelain bowl, that would make him put the seat down.
Getting to fix it items around the house is not something my husband does well. He replaced the thermostat last November and left it hanging by it's wires against the wall because he needed to paint the wall behind it. Since he never finishes anything, I was surprised when he went out and got the extra yellow kitchen paint can, and a brush. I started to hope that he would finish a job in once quick swoop. he must have seen the look on my face because he assured me that "I'll do this tomorrow".
Tomorrow never came. I bitched and moaned, cursed and even threw a shoe at him as he laid on the couch waiting football through the back of his eyelids. Still nothing. "I don't have time," he complained.
Well today, I couldn't take it anymore. I went outside and got the paint, the brush and took care of it. It took me six minutes and that involved removing the lid and stirring the paint. When I told him I did it. He argued that he was going to do it this afternoon then rushed out to see if I did it okay. A moment later he comes up the stairs and complains to me that I didn't put the lid on tightly enough on the can. He also didn't like that I left it on the wrong shelf in the storage shed.
He stared at me, brows all furrowed looking very perturbed as he complained that I didn't put it away right. "Why don't you put things back where you found them? did you find the paint can on that shelf?"
I glared at him before telling him that if he didn't wipe that snarl off his face, I would find a new place for the paint can and brush, but I don't think he'd like it.