I am not the only one struggling with the urge to batter my live in annoyance to a bloody pulp with a blunt object. See? And see?
I went to bed having left a tidy kitchen. I awoke to find the Baron had eaten half of the contents of the fridge. But had he put the remains in the fridge? Bollocks.
He had piled them on the counter directly above the cupboard that houses the bin.
He refuses to clean the cat litter trays. He doesn't clean the toilet. He doesn't even replace the toilet paper. He doesn't turn his socks out for washing, or empty his pockets. He has never ever done a load of washing.
All he does is work on his clay modelling project. Don't get me wrong, it is really good, but it is taking over the fucking house. The conservatory is completely unuseable as a room as he has taken it over. The house reeks of fiberglass filler. There is kitchen roll strewn about.
And this is after I asked him at the weekend to get it all into the garage. He spent the weekend fartarsing about, supposedly cleaning, yet nothing actually happened. The room is still unuseable.
And the final straw? He turned the thermostat up last night to help his model dry. I didn't know. I couldn't sleep because I was so hot. I finally got up as I was so miserable, and went downstairs to get a cup of tea.
The fucker had turned it up. Right up. The whole house was heated to 95F.
I have had enough.
{{{{{{{Mouse}}}}}}
They are beyond frying pans some days aren't they? I'd much prefer to break my foot off in mine's ass, I suggest you do the same.
Snapper | Email | Homepage | 12.07.04 - 6:53 am | #
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Oh, boy. What are you going to do?
Evil One | Email | Homepage | 12.07.04 - 11:43 am | #
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
EEEK! You are making me a wee bit nervous about my impending marriage. So far, on his short visits to me, he's been great...only minor annoyances. But I can see them escalating to major when he is here full time. Must not project, must not project, must not...
Hang in there...and focus on the brothel-like atmosphere instead.
Sarah | Email | Homepage | 12.07.04 - 1:17 pm | #
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
95 friggin degrees????? Oh he would have died! Assuming I could move my butt out of the sweat soaked bed and have enough energy left after losing that muchof my bodily fluds, electrolyte balance, sodium etc....
Sarah | Email | Homepage | 12.07.04 - 11:47 pm | #
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Oh boy...he's gonna get it!
Miss Arrogant | Email | Homepage | 12.08.04 - 11:38 am | #
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Posted by: | Saturday, 19 February 2005 at 20:09