It scaaarres meh...

I have a confession: I’m a teensy bit afraid of being a wife.

I don’t know why this bothers me in the least, except that I worry about Jesse getting fed up with the ‘tude at some point, throwing up his hands in disgust and saying, “That’s it! I’m outta here!” But really, it’s just that there’s a certain way I like things done. Loading the dishwasher isn’t an art, per se, but it can be done in an efficient manner that allows lots of things to be loaded into it, and still get clean. I love it when he helps out with loading it…I really do.

Except I really don’t, because I’ll just have to rearrange everything once I get my hands on it.

But the effort he makes is what matters. :)

Now we have agreements when it comes to chores, so things don’t get all discombobulated. He takes out the trash, cleans the bathroom, and washes himself off now and then.

I do the dishes, wash the laundry that both of us use, clean random surfaces here and there, vacuum, make sure the alarm is set in the morning, wash myself pretty much daily, pay the bills, and fluff the cushions on the couch.

If it weren’t for me doing half of those things (ok, ok…MOST of those things), I’m pretty sure they would never, EVER get done. Particularly the fluffing of the cushions. What does he have against normal-shaped cushions? I dunno.

Basically, I’m a pretty picky bitch. Takes a lot to put up with me, as the usual thing for me to do as soon as I get home from work is see something to immediately complain about, and then mention it as soon as I see Jesse when I walk in the door.

I honestly don’t know how he does it. Nor do I know how he’ll continue to do it for the rest of our lives!

And so, I’m afraid to be a wife.

*sigh!* After the first 5 years, he will definitely have earned a cookie, that’s for sure.