Childish Tricks

The husband isn't much for talking. It's not that he doesn't communicate, he definitely does. Just not in words.

Here's a few examples so you get what I'm talking about.

Problem: He's tired of being the only one to fold laundry.
Communication Technique: He ties all of my underwear into knots and throws them in the drawer.

Problem: He doesn't like that I left my only work shoes in the garage.
Communication Technique: He parks his car on top of my shoes, ruining them and ensuring that I didn't have heels to wear for an important presentation that day.

Problem: The kids and I left toys and papers on the couch.
Communication Technique: He sweeps everything off the couch and then kick it all into a corner, breaking several items.

Problem: He feels the kids have too many stuffed animals.
Communication Technique: He donates all of them. Including their "lovies" and items they'd had since birth, as well as animals I had saved for them since my childhood.

Problem: He doesn't like that I go for a drive when conversations become heated.
Communication Technique: He lets the air out of my tires.

Problem: He doesn't like that I drove his truck.
Communication Technique: He takes my car, hunts me down and then hits his truck with my car.

Problem: He feels that I've been nagging about his sleep schedule.
Communication Technique: He locks my keys in my car and then leaves with the only spare set. Leaving me stranded when I was just leaving for work. I then had to call my boss to come pick me up.

Oh yeah. The dude communicates all right.

There was a point to this. In fact, this was supposed to be a hope-filled blog about a sweet moment between him and our youngest that I witnessed Monday night.

But fuck it.

Now I'm just pissed off.

We'll save sweet for another day, when I don't feel like introducing him to the wood chipper.