I will end up muttering to myself.

I have come to both love and accept my wife’s little quirks. I don’t understand them all and from time to time I have to just shake my head and mutter after finding something odd in the recycling or noticing that kitchen silverware was used to dig in the flower beds for example. I have also discovered that it is best to work within the confines of these quirks instead of confronting them/her with what most people would call reason. That confrontation would lead to a two hour discussion that would, in turn, lead nowhere. I would have to apologize for even bringing it up and then I would have to buy her something shiny for my transgression. In the end, I would be right back where I started – muttering to myself and slowly shaking my head with my lips pursed in an expression of both frustration and amazement.

Stamps-With-Foot is very visual and she has to SEE something for it to be real for her. Visualization of a concept like arranging pictures on the wall, where flowers COULD go in the yard, or where to move a chair in the living room is an exercise in frustration. This normally means that after a week+ of debating where a piece of furniture should go, I will move it 4-9 times before she decides that the original decision was the correct one. This comes up for me because we have been talking about to swapping offices at home. Her sewing/estrogen room will go upstairs to the sunny well-lit wood-floored bedroom at the front of our house and I will move my faux-Edwardian office/man-cave into the basement so that it will be co-located to my tiny hobby machine shop, work bench, and our den: A win/win for us both of us as long as I don’t have to move crap up and down and around for two days.

In the spirit of working with her previously addressed/documented traits, I formulated a plan to have it all work in my favor. I measured and drew a scale model of the room upstairs, showing locations of the doors, windows, and air vents. Then, I made scale cutouts of all the furniture that she could possibly have in the room. I left her with the drawing and cutout so that she could torment and second guess herself in peace while I went into the basement and worked on my new machine shop bench. 24 hours later and after looking at every possible combination at least 6 times, she had determined a location for each and every twig for her sewing nest and taped her choices for furniture location down on the drawing. I have elicited a promise that her decision is a final one and that if there is a change in any of the locations it will be made before the very first piece is picked up and humped upstairs.

Now all that is left for me to do is to bribe/con some friends and neighbors into helping move all the crap, putting it in its designated place and then to disappear in to my basement to plot my plan for world domination…. Mwahahahaha….

I am slowly being replaced.

I have mentioned previously that my relationship with my wife is a Polaroid of happy modern love, with a side order of belligerent puppy.  Her dog REALLY wants to be alpha-male in our house !  He wants prime the snuggling position when TV watching.  If I get up off the couch or chair, he is immediately in my spot.  Brodie tries his dead-level best to sleep between the wife and me – sneaking into the blocking position in the middle of the night.  I ofter wake up to jowles and puppy breath sharing the pillow with me.  If we have to leave him in the car for a minute while we run in somewhere, he waits for us in the driver’s seat.  My bathrobe is now his bathrobe, etc…

So night before last, I got up to pee and got caught up for like 30 minutes writing a work e-mail on my iPhone.  I came back to bed and I found that not only does Brodie share a love for firm pillows, my side of the bed, high thread-count cotton sheets, and cute girls, he apparently also has a deep affection for presidential biographies…

That dog has some sort of diabolical plan formulating between those big ears…  I feel that he is trying to slowly replace me – you know, like some morning he will dig a deep hole out back, help me into it, and trot back into the house to have his morning coffee, read the news, and get ready for a hard days work, all  without Stamps-With-Foot ever knowing the difference…