I was going to introduce this post with some stats on divorce rates in the U.K., but frankly the maths weren’t straight forward, and like most divorces, we can conclude this; it’s complicated.
This post has been rattling around in my head for a few years now, and it’s honestly not designed to be a man bashing exercise, I know that many of you can relate to the fact that marriage isn’t always easy. Living with someone day in day out is bound to generate a wealth of irritations and emotions over the most mundane and smallest things. I always believe it’s better to air your grievances rather than bottle them up as it’s the small things which can end up being the big things. Poor Dad Muddling Through.
It goes both ways of course. No one is perfect, least of all Dad Muddling Through, and least of all me.
So, after nine years of muddling through marriage, I’m declaring my theoretical grounds for divorce, in an exercise to exorcise those irritations once and for all because if I did have grounds for divorce, it would be these unreasonable behaviours…
Is it too much to ask that a man with two degrees could not predict the outcome of a jar / container / bottle being stowed away without the lid properly secured. Feckity fecking food all over the floor is a world of pain I could really do without.
The Baked goods Destroyer
I have no idea what the first three slices of bread ever did to Dad Muddling Through, but they are clearly not fit for human consumption, hence being torn, tossed aside and crumpled into an unusable heap in order to get to the perfectly suitable fourth slice in.
Damp Towel Gate
Oh the towels, the towels, the bane of my life. My decade or more of moans about how they don’t dry in a bundled heap have fallen on deaf ears as I grumble and mumble and eff and jeff under my breath again…and again…and again.
This also applies to on the floor / on the bed / chucked over the side of the bath… I sometimes wonder if he’s doing it on purpose just to get a reaction, because surely I’ve made this educational point clear by now?
If we were preparing for the apocolypse, and making plans to fill an underground bunker, I’m sure DMT could still only ever contribute ‘Kiwis’ to the supplies list. The house could be depleted of all cleaning supplies, meals, toiletries and sundries, and when I ask what we need from shopping there is only, ever, one answer. Kiwis. Because god help us should we ever run out of Kiwis.
The full Monty
The man I married definitely did not love his garden more than his Ben Sherman Shirts, but one way or another Dad Muddling Through is slowly morphing into Monty Don. He has been known to walk in through the door, right past us all and straight into the garden without saying hello, to check on his tree ferns, grass seeds or rake up the leaves. Agreed it is kind of cute, if a little insulting.
Slam dunk da funk
Given the effort Dad Muddling Through has gone to to install a basket ball hoop in the office, it’s surprising the laundry basket of similar dimensions lacks the same appeal. No, the bathroom floor / arm chair / is much more likely to score points when it comes to getting an alley-oop (google it). Maybe this is the answer…
Given that we have just switched over to a milkman, I wonder if I can kiss goodbye the lovable trail of milk carton plastic seals, which magically appear every few days on the work surface. Or will they be replaced with the foil version? I have no idea why there is such an aversion to placing these little waste bi-products in the bin, but the facts speak for themselves.
Bad mood lighting
Ooh I love a scented candle. It would seem however that 50% of the adult household is not so keen as evident by the tendency to blow them out at every opportunity. Frustratingly, his case was proven when after insisting candles were dangerous, we did actually find one in flames on the mantelpiece. Darn I hate it when he proves me wrong.
Let’s just sum up this into one category. Toilet rolls being replaced, toothbrushes going back in the holder, caps back on the toothpaste, or my personal favourite, shavings all over the ….erm…all over the place. There’s also a bog brush which shouldn’t need any further explanation on how to use to maximum effectiveness. Leave as you’d like to find Dads…please…we all gotta use this bathroom.
Cup half empty
I’m not one to complain…but…if you are going to go to the effort of making a brew, fill that cup to the top man,with piping hot water in a decent sized mug. No half full tepid teacup gonna get me through the morning, end of.
Born in a Barn?
You know what they say… when one door closes, your wife won’t have to nag you constantly about closing sodding doors. Front doors, porch doors, shed doors, wardrobe doors, cupboard under the stairs doors. Where’s Hodor when you need him…
I’m not sure if this is a complaint or a life skill, but never before have I known usage of pockets quite in the same way that DMT manages to pull off. Maybe I’m missing a trick, but who needs a bin when you have four mini bins about your person for all day usage, to be magically emptied by the laundry fairies (and be cursed when the remnants of said waste end up over the entire load, again).
On reflection, perhaps these unreasonable behaviours are better named ‘grounds for a good old moan’, which would be high up the list of Dad Muddling Throughs grounds for divorce, I have no doubt.