Beloved has protested to me mightily that I am happy to broadcast his foibles to the world but do not do so with my own. Well, says I, is constant and dazzling perfection really such a foible?
Beloved’s look was… eloquent. He went on to describe at completely unnecessary length a minor little eccentricity of mine that he, unreasonably, finds rather vexing.
See, I am somewhat absent minded and driven to not waste things (economical! That’s me). So I make sure something is truly, truly empty before I throw it away (the planet thanks me, I’m sure).
Yes. I am the one who drinks the milk down to the dregs – then puts the bottle back.
I am the one who uses the mayonnaise then puts the jar, with a micro-scrape left at the bottom, back.
I do use all the butter but for the tiniest smears in the corners – and put it back.
Empty packets, bags, bottles and jars fill our shelves (often meaning we forget to buy new replacements Well Beloved should CHECK shouldn’t he? Right? Right?) and many a time Beloved has tried to make a sandwich and had to throw away 4-5 jars.
I am even the one who will use a pen, see it is out of ink… and put it back. And that one even annoys me. My desk is covered in pens and none of them work, not one. I have yet to reason out exactly why this is Beloved’s fault but I am sure I will think of something in time.
While the food and drink and even the pens do indeed drive Beloved to merrily strangle me in his dreams, I think 2 particular oversights of mine are the ones he will use one day in court in his defence. I concede that it’s possible he will sway a jury.
The batteries. Yes, when the batteries in my toothbrush/television remote/etc have gone dead I will go hunt some fresh ones from the BIG DRAWER OF STUFF (very useful drawer it is, up there with the BIG BOX OF WIRES and the CUPBOARD OF THINGS) and, yes, put the old, dead batteries back in the drawer.
Yes, we have a drawer with a dozen dead batteries. And whenever he wants to replace a battery he has to face an hour of testing all of them to find that one elusive battery that still works (assuming there is one). I can usually tell his progress by his… colourful commentary as he diligently checks each one.
Or, there’s option 2. The razor blades. Yes, I admit it, when finding that the blade on my razor could no longer cut butter I get a new one out of the bathroom cabinet… and put the old one back in its place. So along comes Beloved, thinking he has a fresh, sharp blade and… well I think the neighbours heard him scream once. I’m sure they heard him swearing.
So what do you guys think is worse? the food & drink, the pens, the batteries or the razors? And do you think the court will accept his defence? And own up – I’m sure some of you do exactly the same thing! C’mon, admit it, I can’t be the only one.