saint-louise's Diaryland Diary
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Love and hate. What a beautiful combination.
I�ve caught two or three episodes of a show called �Things I Hate About You.� Each episode follows a different couple as they present evidence they have gathered against their partners, to prove which one of them is the most annoying.
Because the best way to show how much you love someone is to emphasize that they bug the shit right out of you. And it is also very important to demonstrate this to a national audience.
I have decided that this developmental method bears some weight. I mean, they must be on to something there, a truly healing salve of wisdom for the modern couple. They not only have a nasal host to make condescending remarks about the couples� habits, but they also have a jury of three individuals who are well qualified to make the final call on who is the most irritating: an actor who is not famous enough for anyone to remember his/her name, a comedian who is not famous enough for anyone to remember his/her name, and a cloying relationship therapist who always seems to be looking to the other two to validate what she has said.
On top of all of that reality goodness, add some very grating couples. No, not your run-of-the-mill irritants. I mean some of the most dysfunctional, piercingly whiny couples you can imagine yourself braining with a shovel and taking great pleasure from it.
When I say they are on to something, I mean good LORD, people. They named it �Things I Hate About You� and I�ve tallied up a good hundred things per episode that I hate about everyone on that show.
Sheer genius, I tell you.
So I decided that since this has worked so well for the couples on the show � this cheerful cataloging of their mates� shortcomings � that I would ask OH what he found annoying about me. Of course, being a very cautious man who did not in any way believe me when I said that I wouldn�t take offense, OH gently declined to participate in this activity.
Therefore, I�ve taken it upon myself to list the top three of my most annoying behaviors. Apparently, I find this kind of self-deprecation to be very liberating. Work with me on this one.
1. I sing. To everything. I have a particularly well-developed ability to retain lyrics to almost any song I�ve heard, even if it�s only once. And even if I hate the song passionately, I am compelled to sing along. So OH and I will be driving in the car and I�ll start singing to a song playing on the radio. He�ll change the station. I�ll start singing to the song playing on that station. He�ll change it again. Cross genres. I�ll sing. Find a station that has only commercials. I�ll sing along to ad jingles. I�ll sing absent-mindedly in grocery stores and in restaurants. Not loudly, mind you. And I often don�t even know that I�m doing it. But�I mean, think about it.
Think. About. It.
Even I want to sever my vocal chords.
See how healthy this exercise is? Let�s continue, shall we?
2. I like things to be tidy. Very, very tidy. Normally, this isn�t a particularly invasive habit; I don�t consistently hover over everyone like the Harpy of Hygienic, ensuring that they adhere to my standards of cleanliness.
Notice that I said �consistently.� That�s my disclaimer, and that�s all I�m going to say about it.
However, I have learned to stay away when OH cooks, because I tend to follow him around like a clumsy little satellite, cleaning up after him as he moves around the kitchen.
So, for example, OH is stirring something on the stove. He puts the spoon down near the sink and turns away for a minute. When he reaches over to pick up the spoon again, I�m putting it in the dishwasher.
�I�m sorry,� I say. �You weren�t done with this?�
OH sighs gently and takes the spoon away from me. �No. But it�s okay. Thanks.�
OH continues cooking. He chops up an onion, drops some into the skillet and stirs. When he reaches over for another handful of onions to add, he sees that I�ve suddenly materialized next to him, and I�m putting the onions into Tupperware to store in the fridge. �Oh. Hi. I thought these were left over. Sorry.�
�NO,� OH says, tensely. And then, forcing himself to speak with more patience: �No. I�m not finished with those. Please, I�ll take care of this, okay?�
�Okay.�
�Is that alright with you?�
�Yup.�
�Good.�
OH waits until I�ve moved away from him again before he continues working. He measures out some spices to add, glances around quickly, then puts the measuring spoon down on the counter and turns his attention to the skillet.
One beat.
Two.
The temperature in the room drops a couple of degrees. OH shivers. His muscles tense.
Breath on his neck. Then�a quiet voice right next to his ear says�
�Hey, are you done with this spoon?�
And I spend the next half an hour sitting on the porch, locked out of the house until OH can finish making dinner.
Yes, I know it sounds endearing. But it�s really not. No, really. I promise.
3. I�m always hungry.
(Surprise!)
Just picture having to hang out with an overgrown infant who has not yet started eating solid food.
Think about trying to satiate the hunger of an animal that is suffering from worms.
Imagine the appetite of an Olympic athlete. Now subtract the energy, talent, and svelte physique.
Add the compulsion to inform everyone every fifteen minutes about the level of hunger that is being experienced.
Add the desire to ask what everyone had for breakfast/lunch/dinner, so that each and every meal can be enjoyed vicariously.
That�s me. And that�s such fun.
So, this entry is for OH. I know it�s what he would have said. Because he loves me enough to hate me. Just not out loud.
11:39 a.m. - 2004-08-17
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