Not the basement dweller’s fault
I live with 2 men.
While I am relatively lucky because Monsieur Stoic isn’t a blithering, dim witted slob, he does have his….quirks. Like his total lack of emotion. And his habit of forgetting that I am not his brother, we did not share a womb, and thus I cannot read his mind nor decode his mysterious half sentences into something coherent and cohesive. But also, some of his habits. Like
–his refusal to clean out the potty chair
–his refusal to flush the toilet at night or go back and flush it in the morning
–his well intentioned projects with poor follow through (you should see the crown molding…)
–he refuses to use the same towel twice
–he hates recycling.
We had a birthday party for Evil Genius and thus had guests over. Knowing that there were certain things people didn’t need to see, I more or less made the upstairs inaccessible by locking rooms I was embarrassed about. Like our bedroom. But then I had some family come who had never been to the house and I hadn’t seen in 16 years, so naturally I showed them around.
Now, it’s bad enough that I
–have habit of strewing clothes about in the bedroom
–forget to throw away my tissues when blowing my nose at night
–am really, really disorganized so the house often looks cluttered
But on top of that, I don’t spend all my time cleaning. I have things I’d rather do, like picking at my belly button or trying to get my eyeballs out of my head or pulling out my leg hair with a pair of tweezers. I know housework isn’t fun and it’s not like I never do it; it’s just that I’m not going to break myself trying to keep my house in museum condition when Future Cult Leader and Evil Genius can destroy a room in 30 seconds flat.
But all that pales in comparison in showing someone around and discovering after the tour is over that your husband left pee in the toilet half the night and all day.
There is a benefit to having 2 men in the house. It’s like having 2 husbands, except I only have to sleep with one and there’s only one anniversary to remember. If Monsieur Stoic can’t fix something, chances are the Basement Dweller can. If Stoic isn’t around to help with with Future Cult Leader and Evil Genius, then the Basement Dweller is usually on hand to help deal with my untamed miscreants. If Stoic is gone, I can usually count on the company of the Basement Dweller. If there’s a tool that we don’t have in the garage, Basement Dweller likely has it among his own collection of tools, which rivals Bob Villa’s collection in range and size. If Stoic hasn’t bothered to rinse out the milk jug, I can count on the Basement Dweller to do it for him.
The amount of shit I put up with from these guys is amazing. It’s like the middle school locker room all over again. These guy love to verbally double team me, to the point where I feel like it needs to get real up in here. One of these days, Basement Dweller is going to find sex toys that appear to be used on his pillow, and Monsieur Stoic can count on an endless spree of nipple flicking, which drives him up the wall.
Revenge, I will has it.