It started with the Susan Harris show at Tate Britain. For the life of me I could not understand or grasp the artist’s concept. This happens to me a few times in the year when we go for shows which are of particular interest to DH. Once I have lost interest completely I need to keep myself occupied by talking to DH in an otherwise quiet surrounding. I just have to find out from DH how is it that he can find a particular artist interesting and I can’t.
This time though that discussion went a bit further than anticipated and we soon got talking about our displeasure with each other’s taste. It should come as no surprise to everyone that I am in one of those let’s-throw-out-everything moods at the moment. DH as usual has stuck to hoarding each and every item which I find should go straight to the bin.
Anyway that’s not the point here. The situation got rather out of hand when our discussion got a bit heated and we had to get out of Tate Modern in order to continue. Somewhere along the way to the Pimlico station, we decide that it was best that we both went home our separately. Like it would make some sort of a difference, after all we would have to see each other at home. In fact I am the one who made the suggestion – to go separate. I needed some cooling off period and get my thoughts in order.
Who would have thought that two people could argue and fight over mundane matters of OCD, tidiness and hoarding? It seems silly, right? NOT I tell you. It is a mental make-up. One that cannot be explained, but felt. DH likes to have his things around him, he even likes to have his things in each and every room of the house. That is how he make a house his home. I, on the other hand, can only have my possessions in my very own designated room and cannot bear to have my things strewn all over the house.
I remember during my college days I skipped the ragging part completely. I used to save my juniors from ragging, but when it came to the hostel accommodation it was a different matter altogether. I was a first rate bully. We were four girls sharing a two bedroom flat. I had timetables drawn up as to who would clean-up the common areas. Really like a school teacher I used to shout out my demands and they had to be met.
Alas, in a marriage one can’t resort to such tactics. In fact no tactic of mine really works – a request after a love-making session – no, a plea after a major crying session – zilch, a joking poke when amongst friends – nope, a lover’s request in a sweet email – never, a favour after making the heartiest of meals – no way. I have exhausted it all and now I have run out of ideas.
So tell me. Can you think of something I have not tried yet? All I need is to get my husband to throw out some things stored from 1971!!!!
5 comments:
Put it in storage?
Ah Broom - I wish. Putting something into storage would be akin to throwing it out in DH's books. Moreover this frugal me cannot fathom paying for storing junk. OK let me give you an example of what I call junk - How about a chest of drawers which DH's parents brought from Singapore to the UK in 1971? We still have it in the shed.
T has clothes from his school days. Thankfully, when we left the UK, flight luggage restrictions meant we had to leave most of our stuff - junk and some non-junk behind.
You want to suggest a move to another country if it gets really bad ? :)
Hi eep,
Let me say this:
Year 2006 - we got married. We had two options in front of us - DH moves to Dubai or that I move to the UK. Now that I am here in the UK lets confirm that I moved to this country because it would have taken DH more than 20 years to just pack his stuff.
Now ask me how I came to that 20 year figure? In 2004 I made a simple request to DH - please clean up your study. And even now that room is still in a mess. How many years have passed? 7 blooming years!!
But I am getting there...getting to ACCEPT.
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