Things about your loved ones that you have simply come to accept.

About every 12-18 months, I’ll get a call like this from my mother:

Mom: “So, just calling to tell you, $RELATIVE got out of the hospital the other day.”

Jweb: “Ummmm… ok. When you say they 'got out of the hospital, that implies that, at some point prior to being released, $RELATIVE was actually admitted to the hospital for some non-trivial injury or illness?”

Mom: “Uh… yeah, $RELATIVE was admitted XX [days/weeks] ago for $CONDITION.”

Jweb: “Ok, so does the rest of the family know?”

Mom: “Yeah, I called everyone as soon as I found out about it”

I swear, I’ve had this same conversation 4 times at least since I graduated from high school.

I am almost 38…just trying out the ickier age for size. I have come to accept that my mother will nearly always start a sentence with “you should” or “I wish you didn’t”.

She’s a brilliant mother but I have accepted the fact that she is a control freak and seems to find it amazing that I have raised my own child while ignoring some of her “you shoulds”.

I just nod and then do what I was going to do anyway. I still love her loads.

My caring and supportive roommate Hamish cannot contrive to look anything up in the dictionary if I am present.

I think I can understand your irritation, but – what a wonderful compliment.

My lovely wife is a pointer. She sees everything that is wrong, amiss, and awry in our house, large and small, and…points it out to whoever is nearby. At that, her job is done, and if the wrapper is still on the floor next to the wastebasket, the milk still not put away, the bulb in the lamp still burnt out, it means there has been dereliction on the part of whoever she alerted to the problem. She’s not lazy, it’s just that she has some sort of “first to see/mention it doesn’t have to do it” ethic that it’s taken me a decade to begin to understand.

My husband is physically incapable of replacing the toilet paper roll on the spindle. When I asked him to please not balance the new roll on top of the spindle, he complied immediately. He started balancing it on top of the towel rack or putting it on top of the toilet tank instead. Spending that extra five seconds is just antithetical to his nature, I guess.

My mother is psychologically incapable of immediately being happy about any decision I make. She generally comes around and is happy that I’m happy, but her initial reaction is always to worry about stuff going badly. It’s just the way she’s built.

My roommate also will never put a roll of toilet paper on the roll. I figure at least he doesn’t use the last of it and not replace the roll at all. There are so many other things to nag about, I let that one go.

Also, the towel on the fridge is for drying your clean hands. Nope, it’s a napkin for wiping dirty hands & mouth; spaghetti sauce, ketchup, mustard, etc. He was untrainable, so now I use paper towels, and just change his filthy “napkin” once in awhile.

Mr. TeaElle is horrifically adverse to making certain types of phone calls. We have had problems with our cable bill being misdelivered due to a glitch in our address (Drive vs. Lane) and arriving late, or arriving right on the due date each month that we’ve lived in our new house, which necessitates a phone call to pay the bill with a credit card and to once again request that they update our address and fix the problem. He cannot do that. He will stall and stammer and weasel his way out of it until I just do it out of frustration at waiting for it to be handled.

He similarly cannot call for pizza, for doctor’s appointments for the kids, call the bank and ask a question (he’ll call the automated account information line, though) or anything else which might require interaction with a stranger.

My husband is a very brilliant man, highly educated and a former teacher. He’s just stranger-on-the-phone-phobic.

This is okay, though, because he changes diapers, does laundry, doesn’t put near-empty containers back in the fridge and is remarkably self-sufficient. And neater, generally speaking, than I am.

And we’ve learned what from this?

Mr. Athena selectively leaves lights on. By this I mean that he doesn’t leave ALL lights on - he happily turns off the lights in his office, the kitchen, and other various rooms. But the garage light, never. The basement lights, rarely.

It changes from house to house, too. He never left lights on in his apartment, or the first house we lived in together. The previous house we lived in, he always left the basement lights on, but never the garage. In the current house, the garage lights are always on, but the basement lights are only sometimes left on. And it’s only some basement lights - the sauna light, for example, is always turned off. The hallway light, however, is usually left on.

It’s not because the switches aren’t convenient, either. Most of these lights are the type that have switches on both sides - ie, you can turn on the hallway light at the beginning of the hallway, and turn it off at the end. As someone who was brought up to think that leaving lights on was akin to worshipping satan, I have a hard time with this.

He also doesn’t like to eat the last bits of something in a jar, but I think that’s cute, not annoying. I just throw the jars away when I see there’s only a little bit left. And like Caricci’s husband, he’s always smelling things. I agree with her, it’s semi-annoying, mainly because I never know what to say. How does one repsond to something that they can’t sense? “It stinks in here.” “I hadn’t noticed.” “Well, it does.” “Um… ok.” I never know what to do! I can’t fix it, cuz I can’t sense it!

My wife is physically unable to take out the garbage. I will open the pantry door and find a “garbage stack” as tall as me sitting on top of the garbage can.

She has gotten better, before we were married, she would often not replace the liner/bag on those rare occasions she would take out the garbage. After constant hauranging by me whenever I’d come over and take out her garbage, she started using the liners… or maybe it was just me doing it.

And I’m married to Dragwyr.

Funny thing, though–I tend to spend most of my time with SkipMagic, who spends an ungodly amount of time posting on some damn message board . . . the Straight N Narrow? The Rope-a-Dope? I forget . . .

Things My Wife Has Had To Accept About Me:

• I say “I don’t know” in answer to almost any question even when I DO know the answer, but can’t be bothered to say.
• When asked “Honey do” type questions, 90% of the time I flat out say no.
• The 10% of the time I do say yes, I don’t mean “yes” as in “yes”, I mean “yes” as in "yes, I will probably do it sometime within the next two hours.
• The previously mentioned phone talking aversion. I always screen phone calls, and am trying to institute a weekend screening policy by which all members of the family screen Thurs-Sun so as to avoid being asked to do things with family, or other annoying things.
• I can’t stand to be around her family. They don’t mind me, though. Somewhat making up for this is the fact that I rather dislike hanging around my own extended family. Looking forward to the inevitable cross-country move for this reason.
• I unconsciously steal the blankets.

In My Defense I Do Not:

• Dutch oven.
• Ask her to do things or answer questions. (Do unto others… and all that)
• Control or attempt to control her life.
• Argue with her very much.

Things She Does That I Must Accept

• Knit. There is yarn everywhere.
• Hates almost all food (Though I have been making in-roads with Thai)
• Is always freezing when I am hot and hot when I am freezing. Anytime we go to a restaurant, she seems to always pick the seat where the A.C. is blowing directly on her.
• Tries to record my favorite shows, but inevitably makes some mistake. (“No, it’s fine, sweetie, I didn’t really need to watch the survivor finale, I’ll just read about it in the paper.”

In Her Defense She

• “Gets” me
• Knows that when I sound rude, I am usually joking
• Can drive a stick
• Likes games (Video, Board, you name it)
• Thinks I am smart and my ideas are good
• Will tell me when I am being stupid and my ideas are bad
• Has myriad other qualities that, and I am not exaggerating, totally rock.

If I run a joke/gag by him to see if it is funny and he says, " It is not funny and will offend someone." It is a guaranteed gut busting smirk all day kinda gag.

He can read a tech manual like it is a second language to him, but his brain spazms at reading books or my Great Works Of Fiction.

He married me to de-pickle the hamburgers that the fast food attendants put on there in attempts to kill him despite ordering a gherkin-free burger.

He is the United Nations in any conversation ( my little chatterbox with the elastic jaw) I am the SWAT team who comes in and ends the filibuster with a verbal hand grenade. YAY for the Ujests!
When he finishes a project around the house, he leaves the tools and mess there. And it can stay there for six months ( i know, I’ve let a pnuematic nail gun sit there with 1000 rounds of nails just itching to be shot at his backside sit there waiting for him to put it away) with the thing plugged in and it turning itself on to re-fill the thingie so as to always be at the ready.

Somehow, I manage to simultaneously be Podkayne’s husband and Dragwyr’s and WordMan’s wife. :eek: Mr. Neville is not going to be happy when he finds out…

I can’t find things in the kitchen (or anywhere else), even if they are right in front of me. I also leave shoes around the house, though Mr. Neville doesn’t seem to mind. I lose my glasses and keys a lot, and have to enlist Mr. Neville to help find the glasses, as I can only see clearly for about three feet without them and have very little hope of finding them if they are not in their usual place.

My wife will never develop the habit of looking behind the car once she’s in it and starting to back out of the driveway. I have watched as she walked out the door to the garage saying to herself “Don’t hit his car, don’t hit his car”, only to hear the crunch of sheet metal moments later. I refuse to fix the dent in the left rear quarterpanel of my car (which is usually parked in a spur off our main driveway) because she’d only hit it again (four times in the year or so since I started parking it outside, including once with the new van she’s only had for six weeks or so).

Mrs. rackensack too. She’ll talk to her mom on the phone all day, but ask her to call someone she’s never called before, or even a friend or acquaintance, and she’ll put it off until it’s too late or until she can get me to do it for her. Problem is, I have a strong streak of the same thing, though nowhere near as bad as hers. So we burn a lot of angst between us on the subject.

If we’re trying to leave to go somewhere, she’ll inevitably start some project that she can’t possibly finish in the available time. If we’re going someplace that requires us to pack up the car, she’ll angst out about it for a day or so beforehand but do nothing to actually prepare. As the time to leave approaches, she’ll decide that she cannot possibly leave the house until projects x, y, and z have been completed, where x, y, and z are bits of housework that she’s successfully ignored for hours or days up to that point.

You must be my sibling.

Everyone else has been told, strangers (ok, distant acquaintances - but I barely know their names) ask about $RELATIVE and how is my family holding up, and are we ok. And I’ve learned to smile and respond “Thank you for thinking of us, I’ll be sure to let mom and $RELATIVE know that you asked.”

Which I do. Usually in the form of “I heard from $ACQUAINTANCE that $RELATIVE was ill. Why didn’t you tell me that $RELATIVE was in the hospital? What was wrong? Are they better now?”
And I think I might be married to NoPretentiousCodename… this is odd.

Oh dear. I’m married to both Podkayne and NoPretentiousCodename, and they’re going to find out about each other by reading this thread!

Wow. I am so lucky. About the only thing I have come to accept about The Most Wonderful Woman In The World is that she can’t stand onions. This often put a bit of a crimp in my cooking, since I love onions and would put them in almost anything. But she accepts the fact that I fart and an insufferable knowitall, so I will only put onions in part of a dish, or make some seperate batch for her.

That, and that she is afraid of having her picture taken. Why, I don’t know. She is quite beautiful. :smiley:

Mr. Lillith will not take the trash out. Last week it was pouring rain on trash day and he asked me if I was taking the trash out. I said no because it wasn’t worth getting soaked. Lucky for him he didn’t complain about it. I really wished he would complain to his co-workers at lunch that his wife wouldn’t take the trash out in the rain. Really, he has done it about five times in 23 years.

He is an economist, can’t stand too many lights being left on or buying new clothes, yet will not eat the heels of the bread.

Both he and darling daughter will use up milk or whatever, firmly screw on the top and leave it on the counter. It takes a few seconds to rinse it out. No, must screw on the top so gas builds up inside and it practically explodes when I have to rinse it out.

Darling daughter is now leaving orthodonic rubber bands everywhere, along with everything else.

When Mr. Lillith buys me a present it is really for him. Never as bad as Homer buying Marge the bowling ball, but close. One year he bought me a little TV with a VCR built in. I’m not allowed to use it in the bedroom. Funny thing, it goes really well on his workbench in the basement.

But he does know a lot of stuff. Don’t ask him a question unless you want the answer. (Why are snowflakes six-sided?)

My husband is incapable of preparing a meal so all the elements are finished cooking at the same time. He just does not understand how to cook meat, vegetables, and rice so that they are ready to be served at once. He cannot do it, no matter how many times I’ve explained it to him. Last night, I didn’t get home from school until 10. He had the chicken breasts already cooked and he was busily slicing red and green peppers. I said “You were supposed to cook them all together in the same pan, at once.” He said “But I didn’t know how long it would take!”

I don’t get it.

He must pick it from his father. Every time we go to my in-laws for dinner, we end up with cold mashed potatoes because he makes them fucking six hours before we’re supposed to eat and delayed vegetables because he doesn’t start them until he’s ready to sit down and eat everything else.

However, I’m much, much worse. So I can’t complain too much.