Of Bookshelves and Boobs

If you follow me on Twitter, you know that I called WH a lazy jerk the other day. Here’s why.

From the depths of the creepy tech support department here in my office appeared a bookshelf.  It is the perfect bookshelf for my living room. Long and low, it fits perfectly under our picture window. The top of the shelf accommodates my many houseplants with room to spare. We’re looking to get rid of the bookshelves in our home office, as the room is small, and two huge bookshelves, stacked to the point of near-failure, are not helping. The idea behind bringing home The Perfect Bookshelf was to put the books we’re proud of in the living room. My houseplant and gardening books, and WH’s local history books, our field guides and WNC hiking, fishing and driving guides. My Hemingway collection, my Charlotte Perkins Gilman books, and some of WH’s favorite history books.

So in my mind, WH should have been as excited about The Perfect Bookshelf as I was. He was not. He was pissy about having to load and unload it. I moved heaven and earth to make the bookshelf mine on Friday. He asked me to wait until Monday. I waited. Unhappily. Monday we actually argued about it. Tuesday morning tense words were exchanged. Tuesday night I was told to STFU about The Perfect Bookshelf. Last night, he finally brought it home, and lost his crabapple status.

I’m not sure if he was happier because I was finally happy because he finally brought The Perfect Bookshelf home, or if he was pleased by the bookshelf once we got it in place, or if he’s just not crabby anymore for some random reason that has nothing to do with me and my bookshelf obsession. I don’t really care, either, because when you’ve been living with a crabapple for a week, you don’t question his happiness when it finally shows up.

One of the things that WH does when he’s happy is constantly cop a feel. It’s almost as if there are magnets in his fingertips, and when he is within a certain proximity to my chest, his hands are magnetically pulled to them. It doesn’t matter if I’m otherwise occupied, in fact, he seems to prefer that. Feeding the cats, cooking his dinner, cleaning, reaching up in to a cabinet for a glass- I do all of this while WH stands behind me and as he sometimes puts it “uses his God given right as my husband to play with my boobs whenever he wants”.

Which is great. Really. It is much better to have to try and scoop kitty kibble while you’re being molested than to sit on the couch alone and wonder why your husband never pays you any attention, and maybe wondering who might if he never does again. So given the choice, I much prefer molestation.

What is somewhat difficult, though, is adjusting to the flip of the switch from Cold to Hot. We’ve spent the past week snarling at each other and ignoring each other, save some small talk, and now I have this 140 lb. appendage that doubles as a bra. It’s like when your hands are frostbitten, just a little, and you run them under hot water. You’re grateful for the hot water- you *picked* the water temperature, but when you first run your hands under the faucet, the water is so much hotter than your skin that it hurts a little bit. Just for a few seconds, until the blood starts to flow normally and your hands get used the warmth. Then, it’s heaven.

Here’s a little TMI Thursday for you-

Now, if my Aunt would just leave. town. already. please. for chrissakes. it’s been nine days., I could properly reward WH for bringing The Perfect Bookshelf home……. and maybe in the process create an association that would come in really handy:

WH doing heavy lifting that makes my house prettier = lots of lovin’. And boobs.

Mother Nature? Are you hearing me?

How is your week going? 😉

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5 Responses

  1. My last visit from the Aunt lasted 15 days. I was ready to perform the surgery to remove it all myself.

  2. As far as I’m concerned, any bookshelf with a Hemingway collection on it is a Perfect Bookshelf. But I’m glad you found a great one.

  3. I’m still a bit concerned about his mood swings..

    I hope he gets help.

  4. Boobs truly make the world go round…

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