Men: Unusually large children

I get to be a real witch during finals. So inexcusably much so that I apologize to people in advance. I warn Mr. B that things around the house just aren't going to get done, and usually he's okay with it, but I just need to recount my week.

Monday morning: I didn't get my paper finished the night before due to a family emergency where Ociffer needed me to watch his kids. Woke up, came down, found a bowl of guacamole in the fridge, uncovered, the entire fridge smells like rotting avacado. I let it go. I find a bunch of plastic bags in the recycling bin, inform Mr. B in a very friendly tone that bags cannot be recycled (hence the reason we have reuseable ones), and let it go. I point out to him that we have a sheet that details what is recycleable right above the garbage, and let it go.

Monday afternoon: finished my paper, turned it in, took a shower, had marital relations to celebrate. Started the next paper.

Tuesday Morning: I come downstairs and find the leftovers of Mr. B's dinner from the night before, Macaroni and cheese and peas, still sitting on the stove. I let it go; at least he cooked for himself and left me alone. The box for the macaroni and the can for the peas are in the garbage. I rinse the can and put those items in the recycling, along with the junkmail from Monday afternoon which was also misplaced in the garbage, and in a friendly tone tell Mr. B that junkmail, cardboard, and cans go in the recycling. I again point out the recycleables guide. I let it go.

Tuesday night: Mr. B gets home and finally cleans up his mess of Mac 'n Peas from 24 hours earlier. He opens the fridge and complains that there's no food, I tell him to go shopping, he doesn't want to, he finds a package of hot dogs and decides to cook them. I have to instruct him on how to operate the Foreman grill, and tell him he will need to rotate the hotdogs about every 3 minutes for a 10 minute cook time; this is apparently too much work, and he asks me to do it for him because he needs to play WoW. I ignore him, trying to type my paper. He steals my cell phone and starts texting people. I get up, threaten to beat him viciously for interupting my paper writing, wrestle my phone from him, somehow his hands are down my pants. I scream at him to leave me the heck alone because I haven't hit my goal on the paper yet, and he starts whining about how we never have sex. I tell him we had sex the day before--his response is "Oh yeah." I have him call Q to play WoW with him so he leaves me alone.

Wednesday morning (today): Come down stairs, and find junkmail and cardboard box in the garbage. Again. Have it out with Mr. B over the guac, the recycling, the sex, my unfinished paper, and his general inability to act like an adult. I return to the livingroom and find the paycheck that arrived for me in the mail on Monday has been moved from the coffee table by the door; I ask Mr. B where he put my paycheck. He says he didn't touch it. Paycheck is still missing.

Men suck.

Alula