I am a bit of an extremist. A bit of an all-or-nothing type of lady. It's like, give me whole beard or nothing. Go big - or don't show your face. And don't try to grow a beard if you have awful facial hair. . . . .. Moving on . . . .. . Or, I'd rather have the fullest bowl of soup or no soup at all. Or, bring me to orgasm or don't even think about it. Or, sing as loud as you can with as much vigor allowed, or don't sing at all.
Also I like to make "points". Even if it ruins my life. One of these points that I shamelessly love to prove - is of Big D's complete unawareness of leaving his junk laying around. And there is nothing more aggravating than seeing a grown man's junk laying around.
Big D carries junk around in plastic grocer bags.(EW!) (Clearly, a pet peeve) And one time, he dropped his bag that he emptied, on our shoe pile. The pile that sits right next to our front door. The pile that is directly in my visionary line while sitting on my couch. And to make a point, I left that awful bag there. Waiting to see how long it would sit there.
Now I know that you probably think that I'm nuts. And need immediate prayer for my prideful heart. But you also must look at it from a quizzical heart perspective. How unobservant is he? How long will he push the bag aside to grab his shoes? I am proud to say, that it stayed there a full year.
One full year I stared at that bag, while I sat on my couch. Wondering, how you can ignore an awful, white, crunchy, plastic bag - laying on your shoes?
I wish I could remember how the white bag left it's year long stay. I feel like horns and a marching band should have announced it's departure. But it was completely non-monumental - hence why I can't remember.
One of my favorite things to do with Big D's junk laying around, is to wing it into the yard. But there are rules that I follow in order to keep me in check and appropriate - otherwise I would operate as a loose cannon.
Rule #1 Make sure item has been in sight for at least a week.
Rule #2 Make sure item is in a spot that makes life miserable (ie plastic bag laying on shoe pile, gross old college stein sitting on counter in the way of doing anything productive, etc.)
Rule #3 Announcing my displeasure and desire for junk to be put out of sight.
Rule #4 Allowing a reasonable amount of time to relocate, said junk. (ie 3-7 minutes)
And then I throw. And I throw with great pleasure. I wing things as far as I can. And I love even more when there's 3 feet of snow. Legitamately, I am airing Big D's dirty junk. And all the neighbors can see his junk rolling in the yard. Or half buried in a snow bank.
When we lived in apartments (on the 3rd floor) . . . that added an extra level of pleasure. Not only would I fling as hard as I could, but then there would be this moment of silence, where the junk would be flying. And in that moment of silence, my joy would exponentiate in greatness. I would imagine the explosion crash - that usually ended up being a muffled thud . . . I would fantasize about all the people who had watched me from their large windows that faced our balcony. And I would get quite giddy when it came time for Big D to come home.
Also, another thing that I'm really good at. Starting projects that I've asked Big D to do or help me with. Usually when I start them by myself - it's in a great rage. And I become very full of energy and strength. Which actually means that I'm destroying something and making the project 7.0087 times longer.
Like one time I destroyed the whole front garden with a pickax. Big D loved me a million for doing that.
And for everything else I've destroyed and or have given flying lessons too.
Take Aways
1) I secretly love when Big D doesn't take care of his things.
2) Yes, I make Big D nervy.
3) He didn't marry me because I was a safe choice.
4) He has verbalized to me (numerous times) his enjoyment in my unpredictability.
5) I feel no sorrow or remorse for being unpredictable.
6) I love to throw. Especially when I shouldn't be throwing "it".
The End.
I giggled and smirked through this entire post.
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