Just yesterday, I was complaining to Mr. Candy about how tired I am. Bone-achingly tired. Morning, noon and night. “Then go to bed early tonight! Or take a nap!” he chirped.
*Sigh* After eight years of marriage, you’d think he’d know better by now.
When your six-months-pregnant wife is crying about chronic fatigue, there is only one correct response: “Oh, you POOR THING! Being pregnant must be so hard on you!”
Yes, a sympathetic ear, genuine or not, is all I want — and if that sympathetic ear happens to be accompanied by a foot massage, then I just might reward my husband with a li’l somethin’-somethin’ that night… by letting him use my burgeoning belly as a beer tray.
My belly has gone tragically beer-less, however, because Mr. Candy always follows my complaints with a “helpful” suggestion and, more often than not, a PowerPoint presentation highlighting why, exactly, it would be more painless to just organize my closet already instead of throwing myself on top of the pile of clothes and sobbing about how overwhelmed I am about the prospect of organizing it. Grrrr.
NOTE TO MR. CANDY’S MOM: If your son ever goes missing, you may want to look at the bottom of my pile of clothes.
I had always attributed my hubby’s habit of offering frustratingly logical solutions to his job — partner at a strategy consulting firm where they are paid to come up with solutions to companies’ problems — but, as I learned on last week’s Modern Family, it’s actually because HE’S A DUDE.
Mr. Candy and I watched this together, nodding our heads the entire time. I would breathe a sigh of relief that I’m not alone in this, except I fear my husband is always going to be a dude. And I really do not feel like organizing that closet.