angry wife is angry
Angry wife is first elated: Will and I are moving (yay!) in a couple of months (but I'm nesting now :( ) into an apartment that he and his family have purchased on the Lower East Side. It is quite possibly the nicest place in all of New York City in which newlyweds can start their life together, and as such I have christened it Barbie's Dream House. The walls in the living room are light turquoise blue with white trim, and there's a beautiful wire light fixture shaped vaguely like a bridal gown, and best of all there is a walk-in closet in the bedroom and a balcony, a real-life honest and true balcony, perfect for drawing on or doing something unabashedly romantic or enjoying a summer night, with a gorgeous view of the trees and courtyard thirteen stories below and an even prettier view of all of Manhattan spread out in a glorious panorama below the western sky. You may understand why I'm all squirrely and restless and eager to start building our new home.
But angry wife must vent: as in any engagement, there are occasionally times when I look at him and wonder why I am marrying this, or quite possibly what I saw in him in the first place, as when he brings up the idea of culling our stuff before we move, and the first place he suggests we thin the ranks is my beloved action figure collection. WTF. You know me better than anyone else on the planet, and you know how I'm attached to my dolls and figures and toys even at my age. Why would you do that? In order to conserve space and reduce stuff, one doesn't need to cut off a finger. Then again, this is the man who tried to take my pink blanket from me while I was in bed with a fever on the excuse that it would be full of germs and perpetuate my flu, and only because I was sick did he come out of that without losing an arm. Sometimes I wish he'd realize his personal standards don't always -- and sometimes can't -- apply to me.
Why you gotta be such a pushy bastard all the time?
But angry wife must vent: as in any engagement, there are occasionally times when I look at him and wonder why I am marrying this, or quite possibly what I saw in him in the first place, as when he brings up the idea of culling our stuff before we move, and the first place he suggests we thin the ranks is my beloved action figure collection. WTF. You know me better than anyone else on the planet, and you know how I'm attached to my dolls and figures and toys even at my age. Why would you do that? In order to conserve space and reduce stuff, one doesn't need to cut off a finger. Then again, this is the man who tried to take my pink blanket from me while I was in bed with a fever on the excuse that it would be full of germs and perpetuate my flu, and only because I was sick did he come out of that without losing an arm. Sometimes I wish he'd realize his personal standards don't always -- and sometimes can't -- apply to me.
Why you gotta be such a pushy bastard all the time?