Humorous Take on Marriage Challenges

Let me tell you something about marriage.

I'm on my knees in the bedroom scrubbing cat piss

off the fucking carpet and my husband calls me.

There's supposed to be a pen

on the stoop. Somebody's here to pick it up. A pen?

Excuse me, a what?

Excuse me, a pen on the stoop, and it's not there anymore.

The person here to pick it up, it's not there anymore.

Why is my husband sending people to pick shit up from him

at our house where I live when he's not here?

That's question number one. He knows I hate that, but

suffice, whatever. I had a package this morning.

I came to pick up my package off the stoop before I left to Lowe's to get the

steam cleaner, and I saw this little box with

this little paint pen inside of it that's literally been in our house for

a month. I've literally moved it so many damn times

because I keep

finding it on the mantle. I keep finding it on the counter.

I keep finding it in the kitchen, and I'm just like, "What the fuck is this

motherfucking thing?" And I keep getting rid of it,

and it just keeps coming back.

Then it was on the stoop this morning just sitting there, and

I'm like, "What the fuck is this?" It's a car paint pen.

So I'm, I, I, I'm automatically, I'm like, "My husband must have dropped his

stupid car paint pen that he's been hanging on to for an entire

fucking month."

So what do I do? I pick it up. Why am I picking it

up? Because I think it was left there on accident,

because nobody told

me otherwise. Because that's something

that men just don't fucking do.

They don't communicate. They don't commun- "Hey, babe.

I'm gonna leave this pen on the stoop.

Somebody's coming to pick it up." "Okay.

Okay.

Cool.

Sounds good, babe." But no, no, my life is a

mystery. I am shrouded with mysteries every single

day.

Where is this? What did it come from? Where is it supposed to be?

I'll put it here. I'll put it there.

I'll find it here, and then find it there, and then I'll put it here and there and

everywhere. And then somehow, magically, it'll end

up on the stoop with no context and no reason and

no why.

So that's what it's like being me