As You Probably Know, I Have Model-Good Looks
Husbandrinka tried it on me the other day with a "as you probably know, I'm a perfectionist." It's a good thing that looking stupid has never bothered me, so I chocked on whatever I was drinking and then said "YOU? A PERFECTIONIST" and then laughed until I developed laugh lines of a woman twice my age. As you probably know, I have the skin of a newborn. (The FBI is investigating).
(By the way, when I told John this story, his response was "how can he be a perfectionist, he married you, didn't he?" I'm not sure that I will forgive him. But as you probably know, I have a big heart.)
So husbandrinka and I had a standard fight about whether or not he was a perfectionist and then we compromised on that he is a perfectionist at work and he doesn't like to burden his family with his perfectionism, so that's why I've never seen this side of him. I may be paraphrasing here a bit, but as I often tell him, if he wants to tell his side, get your own blog.
So a few days later, he is working from home and suddenly I hear "FUCKING SHIT!" (part of the reason that I hear this is because I am sitting right next to him) and I ask what's wrong, because as you may know, I am a caring soul and love to help people and he's fuming because the documents he needs are at the office. Because I love to strike when the iron's hot, I ask him if that is part of his perfectionism--having the wrong documents. So, I figure that I have a slam-fucking-dunk, and that he will bow to my wisdom, say touche and offer me some champagne to celebrate my verbal victory, but instead he says, "this is why I don't like to talk to you--you take things out of context."
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T LIKE TO TALK TO ME?"
"YOU HATE ME."
"That "no" didn't sound convincing."
"I don't hate you."
It's a good thing, that as you know, I don't like to dwell on things.