Monday, January 26

Day 8 of The Strike

Last week, I went on strike. After 10 years of nagging, screaming, raging, and sighing, I have decided that I will no longer throw out Dan's empty pop cans. He likes to leave them on the counter next to the sink, expecting me to put them in the recycling bin or the garbage. Everyone has a pet peeve, this is mine. Also, Dan has magical clothes. He can leave them in a heap on the bedroom floor and they get picked up, washed, dried, folded, and hung up. No longer.

Day One of my strike, I left the pop can next to the sink. He didn't notice. I washed only the clothes that were in the hamper and threw them in the crib that is assembled in our bedroom (which I have asked him to take down for over 3 months). He didn't say a thing. After days and days of this, I had to point it out! Dan confessed that he didn't even realise that I was no longer dealing with the pop cans and (wait for it, ladies!) he thought that leaving his clothes in the crib was a great idea!

Where do I go from here?

2 comments:

alison said...

Hi Gwen.

My ex was the same way with the clothes. I can't remember if pop cans were an issue, it's been a while.

Thanks for your comment on my blog posting re: my job. I'm a bit overwhelmed at the response to something I wrote very quickly last night. I know this isn't the right venue for this, but I don't have your email. I don't want to look elsewhere for another job. I like my job just fine. I am wrestling right now with the wording of an email to the director laying out why I am so upset at what happened. You are right on the money.

Alison

Anonymous said...

I've gone on strike once before, only to realize that my husband seemed to be on some sort of strike himself...needless to say...it got so bad, I caved and cleaned up myself. I then made a vow to give my boys chores and make them clean up after themselves. Hopefully, when they leave the nest...at 35...they will continue to do this and not make their wives feel like their mothers. Again, I shall remain anonymous for fear of being forced to be social...