Ways My Wonderful, Beautiful and Charming Wife Annoyed Me in 2005

1. Let’s start with this, since the most recent incident was no more than five minutes ago: When the phone rings and it’s someone I don’t want to talk to, and I wave my hands and whisper, “I’m not here,” as all people do when they’re busy or tired or watching Iron Chefs duke it out with asparagus, my wife gets flustered as if these gestures are indecipherable alien language, and says, “Uh, wait, just a second — what?” Then, instead of making up some quick cover, like maybe our 4-year-old son was asking her something, she suddenly hands me the phone. Why? I have a theory, which leads us to No. 2: 2. Despite claims of love and 10 years together, this woman will not bear false witness on my behalf. How can you trust a person like that? Who knows when there will be some situation in the future where I am hiding from the mob or the ATF and desperately need her to say I’m out of the country or any place but hiding in the closet? Which is what she’ll say because she cannot lie. She’s deranged, I think, with a kind of mild autism such that her brain simply cannot comply with that request. Instead, she freezes, like a robot with conflicting instructions. Someday, this will get us both killed. 3. Never warns me when we’re going to a “shoes off” house. At least five times this year I ended up with my toe sticking out of a stinky sock at some damn hippie cocktail party. 4. Has friends with “shoes off” households. 5. Watches America’s Top Model without really caring who wins. What other possible satisfaction could she derive from the show other than the thin veil of competition? Even she doesn’t know. She doesn’t care about the fashion; is indifferent to the bitchy queen hosts; seems unmoved by the minidrama cat fights. Nor is she a lesbian. We are both confused, but only I bother seeking an explanation. 6. Seems to enjoy the Gastineau Girls. Then she walks around the house giggling until I am forced to ask her why, at which point she tells me all about the Gastineau Girls. This is how I am forced to have my soul stolen by the goddamn Gastineau Girls without even watching the fucking thing. 7. She makes me great scrambled eggs. How is this a problem? Here’s how: Her superb scrambled eggs are achieved with very low heat and a slow cooking stroke. She stands in the kitchen, gazing at the pan, stirring slowly, saying nothing for up to 15 minutes. That’s 14 minutes longer than I can stand to stir eggs, which reveals the ulterior motive at work here: Her scrambled eggs are really a clever demonstration that she possesses infinite patience and I do not. It is her way of attacking my spiritual essence, a little psychological QED. Each perfectly buttery bite is a claim to spiritual superiority, proof that she’s more Zen than I am. I cook everything on high heat, and it makes for dry eggs. She accepts the proper energy flow of the universe and makes great eggs. This I envy, and she knows it, and that’s why she makes me eat it every morning. 8. She was not at all annoyed when I mentioned I planned to write a list of ways she annoyed me this year and publish it for all of Los Angeles to see. “Sounds funny,” she said, the way you might say a greeting card is funny, without actually giving the impression that she found it either funny or offensive or boring. In fact, she is generally unbaitable, ever more so this year, and I find that especially annoying. 9. This year she decided to start reminding me that her boobs will someday sag. She’s currently all post-pregnancy big and bouncy, which, I’m not ashamed to admit, I enjoy. Instead of letting me spend carefree time with them, however, she likes to remind me every time I get close that, one day, sure enough as the sun sets each day, they will be gone. Imagine if every time you petted your favorite furry dog, someone walked up and said, “Enjoy it now, buddy, because that dog will be dead soon.”


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