Ball juggler

So at first, I was going to write about how I get mad at myself for always calling my husband out when he forgets something, and then guess what? He forgot something, and now I'm mad, so instead, I'll write about how the fact that he can remember all kinds of random shit that applies to him and not a fucking thing that applies to me makes me mad.

See, if you knew me at all, you'd know I'm kind of anal. I am the person who juggles fifteen balls at once and never drops one. Well, maybe on a very rare occasion, but for the most part, they're constantly in motion between my hands or in the air. I never forget anything, EVER. I can recite entire conversations I had in 1983 and tell you what I wore on my first day of Junior year. My husband is the kind of person who would have one ball, set it down on the table, turn around to get a drink of water, and forget where he put it. Or even worse, that he was trying to juggle.

Tonight, he was supposed to hook up my brand new photo printer that he got me for my birthday. He had a poker game at 7:30, and he said he would hook it up before he went. But he got on the elliptical machine, and I left to go to a meeting, and I come home, and guess what? No printer. The real kicker is that when I call the man to ask him what happened, thinking maybe it didn't work or something, he blames it not getting hooked up on the fact that I told him to get on the elliptical, and that after that he didn't have time (mind you he was off the elliptical at 6 PM BEFORE I left for the meeting). Of course, what that really means is he forgot. And when I ask him, he confirms just that.

You are probably thinking, why didn't I just hook it up myself? And that answer would be because if I jacked up anything on the computer, he would kill me. Murdered. Dead. On the floor.

If this were a one time deal, it wouldn't be nearly as fucking annoying. But I kid you not, this man forgets everything--except of course, what time poker starts, where the game is, how many people are going to be there, and that he needs to go by the ATM to get his cash out to play. But the photo printer? I bet he doesn't even remember he bought me one for my birthday.

I am sure there are worse qualities to deal with in a husband. Mine is not a cheater or a liar (except about things he forgets) or even an asshole. But I can't imagine the next fifty years having to pin notes to his shirt to get him to do things. Sheesh.