First of all, I went on a bike ride with him on Saturday for 2 hours. That’s 2 hours on the bike (tandem), not including the stops, one of which was at the bike store to get some stuff for my handlebars which he has been saying he has going to fix for AT LEAST A DECADE since we’ve had the bike for something like 23 years.
Then he goes on a bike ride on Sunday. He also tapes every minute of the Tour de France coverage and watches it over and over.
So I wanted to go to a movie on Sunday and he didn’t feel like it.
So then I go upstairs to get some clothes out of the closet that had some unusual marks I needed to figure out. Marks on the inside of the dryer and marks on the clothes. I examined all of them and found A PEN IN HIS POCKET! That shirt is ruined, I’m sure.
I went online and found a product, but by this time it is 6:00 p.m. on Sunday–I’m not going to be able to buy this product anywhere. Besides, how am I going to get all the ink out? It is just going to spread it around. I have already gotten it on top of the washer and it won’t come off. (It comes out of the clothes if I use alcohol, but how much alcohol will I have to use?)
I always check through all the pockets but obviously missed this one.
I was so furious I almost went walkabout! I almost packed a bag and left! I was angry way out of proportion to the situation (a pen in his pocket), I think because he always has time to do anything related to a bicycle or a kayak or a canoe, but if it’s something I want to do, well then forget it!
Then he had the nerve to ask me what was for dinner. MAKE IT YOURSELF, YOU IDIOT!!!
Not to mention walking all over San Francisco last week looking for just the right place to eat. Because, as you know, there is always a better restaurant just around the corner and we might miss it if we eat at this one. Can we do some research and plan one and even [GASP!!!] take a cab to get there? NONONONONONONONONONONONO. You must hoof it up and down the hills looking for the PERFECT place to eat, which can’t be Italian because for some reason he doesn’t like to eat at Italian restaurants.
DAMN FREAK!!! AND I’VE STILL GOT TO CLEAN THE INK OUT OF THE CLOTHES, some of which are NEW, which he would wear anyway, because HE’S A FREAK!!!