I did a bad thing.
Okay, first let me back up a bit before I explain my transgression. I have been focussing on what I call "little irritants" lately. That is, things that people do that are irritating, but so little in the grand scheme of things that I won't typically mention them because it isn't worth the argument or, even worse, them deciding they don't like me for picking. But those things happen, and they happen to irritate me. Thanks to a wonderful thing called "marriage," poor Joe unwittingly bears the brunt of this silent habit of mine. Often something happens (something utterly miniscule), and I am forced to wonder if this is a diabolical plan on his part to see what I will do, or if he is inadvertently overlooking something minor. In other words, am I being tested, or is Joe just testing my patience?
Exhibit A: Sometimes the toilet paper will run out, and instead of a new roll magically appearing where it belongs, I will sit down to find it balancing on top of the empty one. Does Joe do this to see how long it will take before I decide to fix it? If that was his silent challenge, the answer is twice. I will, apparently, wait for a second new roll to present itself before I will break down and do it myself.
Exhibit B: I'm a wash as I go person when it comes to dishes. I hate dirty, murky-watered dishes sitting in the basin of our kitchen sink. How hard is it to rinse it, and place it in the dishwasher right after eating? And how, in the name of all things holy, can anyone stand a stack of dishes with milky-looking water stagnating in them?! In Joe's defense, he never leaves them overnight, but I just don't get it. Half the time I end up just doing it myself. Which, I guess, is payment for my coffee being made for me every night by my own barrista, Java Joe. He does make the best coffee...and, okay...I haven't exactly kept this particular complaint to myself.
Exhibit C: At our house, whomever finds the cat puke on the stairs cleans it up. Let's just say that sometimes I strongly suspect someone will find puke and purposely leave it for me to deal with. I know, I know. It's hard to believe, right? Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I threw up on the stairs...I mean, would Joe, Shakes, and Isabel all hop over it until it was so petrified they could just pick it up?
And really, I jest. These things are not deal breakers. Joe has overlooked my underwear on the floor, my hair rat that clogs up the sink, and the fact that I have taken over his recliner every night ever since I moved in (it's cooler than the couch!). And I love him. Did I mention that?
But this morning something bad happened. Worse than any of the aforementioned evidence presented, and I have to admit it was due to gross negligence on my part. As I was getting ready, I reached for my wedding ring, and my diamond earring kamikazee'd into my sink. It literally caught air, arced, and aimed itself straight at the drain. I immediately tried to take out the plug, but my previously mentioned hair rat was keeping it firmly in place. It was tragic. I immediately ran to Joe, who spent the next hour tearing the pipes apart, sweating his butt off, slaying the hair rat, missing his work out, and reassuring me that, no, there was no way I could help. In the end, we heard the satisfying plink of my earring as he retrieved it.
The point? Well, after mentally nit-picking poor Joe for the last few weeks, I'm the one who did the most negligent, dumbest thing of all.