One Two Cha Cha Cha!

For the most part Travis is easy to live with. Which is nice since I plan on doing just that for a scary long time. But when you live with someone, that someone always has little habits you could do without. Which is a really nice way of saying you want to kick that person in the face every time they do any one of those little habits that irritate the everlivingshit out of you. I have been able to not dwell on the cabinet doors left open, or the chairs not being pushed in, or his dresser drawers never quite getting closed all the way. But for the love of everything holy, if he doesn't start putting things away when he is done with them, I may have to kill him. There is no other way.

I cannot get over the fact that he never puts things away. It makes me nuts. I cannot deal with clutter in the house. I don't like a lot of knick-knacks, candles, coffee table books, whatever. Give me a clean dresser top and I am a happy lady. Because of this, I try not to collect knick-knacky stuff and I put things away when I am done with them. The other benefit of putting things away? You can find them when you need them next time! Revolutionary! If Travis can't find something, he very rarely asks me if I have seen it. Because he knows if he asks me, my response 9 times out of 10 is going to be, "Did you put it away last time you used it?" I wonder how many times a day he is thankful he lives day in and day out with such a caring, nurturing, wonderful, and all around pleasant person like me.

Not putting away clean, folded laundry is a big one that falls under this category. I used to put his laundry away for him. But then I noticed when he was putting the laundry away, only his laundry got to its proper destination, while mine stayed in its temporary basket home. Yeah...that's not gonna fly. So I asked why he was so mean to my clothes and denied them their comfortable dresser home. "I don't know where they go." What's that now? How do you think I figured out where your clothes go? It's not like you labeled the damn drawers for me. I opened them, used my fancy matching skills and put tshirts with tshirts and socks with socks. Rocket. Science.

So I stopped putting his clothes away. And thus began The Great Piling of Clothes on Chairs in our room. And I stubbornly stuck to my guns. No way was I putting one thread of his clothing in its proper place. Which is really stupid because he could care less and it just pushes me further and further into a padded room with each load of laundry. But I silently let the dance continue.

Until last night. I couldn't take it anymore. I put all of the clothes away, even his. And when he came to bed I happily accepted the "Wow! The room looks great! And a lot bigger!" I happily accepted it because it is nice to receive praise...and because he doesn't know I threw out his shirts that I hate. Mess with the anti-clutter bull, you get the horns.