The first room to pack up was the bedroom. I started by kicking him out of my dresser. (I used to have four of the six drawers and now for the first time of me owning this dresser, I get the whole thing). The thing about most men, or at least Rob, he is a strong believer that clean clothes go into the laundry basket or on top of the cat post, then eventually on to him, and then finally they'll end up in the hamper. This clothes cycle of his drives me crazy. Oops, drove me crazy. It's like the bath mat. I like the bath mat to stay on the floor. It's pretty, it's nice to stand on in my bare feet, and I don't really care if Fred sleeps on it. Rob however insisted that once you are done your shower, the bath mat needed to be draped over the tub to dry properly and effectively. Hrm. Why not have two bath mats for two separate purposes?
The other thing about living on your own is the ability to freely fart. For the most part, girls fall into one of two categories when it comes to farting in front of the significant other (or at least this is my observation). There is the A category: the girl that doesn't mind farting in front of the guy. The lift-the-leg-let-it-rip then relish in the smelly gift the bowels have just given her. Then there is category B: absolutely mortified if the guy knows wind has just slipped out of you. I am most certainly category B. I didn't realize how good I became at leaving the room or blaming the dog. Don't get me wrong, one or two would randomly pop out without warning, usually when I'm in the beginning relaxed stages of sleep where I'm about to drift off when this loud sound happens and I then pretend to stay asleep (because that somehow makes it better) but secretly want to die inside.
Anyway, I was in the tub the other night reading a book by candlelight listening to Fred sleep on the bath mat next to the tub, when the worst happened: a loud ripping sound followed by liquid bubbles. I couldn't believe it. I stopped reading. I squished my eyes as tight as possible (as if that would someone how transport me to another part of the planet) and prayed that Rob didn't hear the bath tub sounds. Then I suddenly realized that I was alone. Completely and totally alone (except for Fred who looked at me then left the bathroom). I was alone. I WAS ALONE! I could fart in the tub all I wanted!!!! How awesome is that?! I could let liquid bubbles fly and not feel ashamed!!! Not feel rude!!!! I could be free!!!!
However, I did put the book down and get out of the tub because no matter how good it felt to have such a new found freedom, I find it hard to soak in a tub full of fart bubble water.
Oh Aryn, this is so funny...but kind of sad too. Somewhere in my junk I have an old spiral binder that I used to write in on a pretty regular basis. In there somewhere is a whole page or two on why I LOVE LOVE LOVE living on my own. To some extent it might have been a reaction to not living with your anal OCD father anymore, but that particular article was written after a visit from Mr. Man here and....do you remember I used to have a giant mirror leaning on the wall? I started doing that when you started to crawl and would go over and play with yourself for hours!! It had been leaning that way on the floor against the wall for at least a couple of years, when B came for a rare visit and made the comment that I shouldn't leave it like that, it could break, it could cut one of us, it could get kicked etc....After he left I sat down and wrote a very long, strongly worded entry to my spiral notebook on why I LOVE LOVE LOVE living alone. It sounded somewhat like your entry above!!!! Living alone is as close to heaven one can get!.
ReplyDeleteThis was hilarious....I am for sure a type A farter....pretty much as soon as Ivan proposed, I started letting them rip. I too used to pretend I was asleep...but no longer...now I just giggle...its much more freeing....and besides the men seem to have no problem at all with it. Enjoy farty..xoxoxo
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