Trapped

"BUT THAT'S NOT WHERE IT WAS BEFORE!" came the bellow from my esteemed mate as I showed him where our toaster was.

*sigh*

We remodeled three and a half years ago. I had my construction guys gut my kitchen. I eliminated the doorway from the livingroom to the kitchen, moved the doorway from the hallway over about four feet to center on the main hallway, juggled all of the original cabinets around and added to them, and built a walk-in pantry. I also revamped our old china hutch to make a lovely wet bar at the end of the new kitchen/diningroom.

Yes, everything was moved around. However, for the most part, all of our kitchen items were in the same exact cabinet that they had been in prior to the remodel three years ago! Including the toaster. The cabinets were just in a different place.

The Hubster still can't remember. He seems to have no short term memory.

"Why can't I put something in the dishwasher and you leave it there!" yelled Steve.

I was rearranging the contents of the aforementioned appliance.

"Sweetie, this little glass custard cup is tiny. When it is placed in the bottom of the dishwasher the jets from below blow it upside down, it then fills with dirty water, and I have to rewash it. If you put it up here in the top rack it doesn't do that." I tried to remain calm, as we had just gone through this two nights ago. "Besides, I'm always rearranging things as the washer fills so that everything fits! I move things that Manlet and I put in too!"

It's baseball season. My husband is most definitely not a fan, but he is a huge fan of sunflower seeds. which I keep in abundance this time of year for our Manlet who is a baseball player. The Hubby gets two custard cups out, fills one with seeds and spits the discarded shells into the other cup. If he attends one of Manlet's games, he uses plastic beer cups as he's seen on major league games. I haven't told him that the players spitting into cups are actually spitting tobacco. He doesn't need a new habit.

"Why do we ALWAYS have to do EVERYTHING your way?" blusters He of Hurt Feelings.

*sigh*

He simply doesn't seem to remember.

We have a huge basement in our house. We live on acreage. A fact of country life is that we get mice running around inside. I strongly dislike folding clothes in our laundryroom and having those little critters scurrying across my feet.

The Hubster is good about setting traps. Mainly, I suspect,  because he uses peanut butter on them. He loooooooves peanut butter. A dab goes on the trap, and a gigantic scoop goes into him just to make sure it's still fresh, says He. 

Like a mouse wouldn't touch a bit of stale peanut butter, lol.

The only problem about this whole scenario is that I will not touch a mousetrap with a critter in it. No way, no how, nada, uh uh. Never happen in a billion years. Yuck!

So, my Spouse forgets to check them. I will text "mouse in trap" for days in a row. Sometimes "mice in the TRAPS". Still no response. I will ask when he is home. I only receive a "DON'T NAG!" from Him of the forgetful mindset.

Last week the mouse in the trap had completely grown an additional two inch coat of fuzz. Double and triple yuck.

"Steve, will you please remove the dead mouse?" I begged. "It must be toxic by now! Would you like me to call an exterminator instead?"

The only thing my Aspie hates more than (in his perception) nagging is spending money. Unless of course he's spending it on tools or cars or car parts.

At the threat of me paying someone to do what he himself could do for 'free', Steve stomped off. Ensuing door slams ring through the house, followed by his re-entry through our front door.

"WHERE'S THE PEANUT BUTTER?" yells He of limited memory.

"In the pantry, Dear!" I call back.

"WHAT PANTRY?"

Oh my gosh, was he mad at me as I rolled on the floor laughing like crazy!