Here’s something I do that is very annoying and should annoy the shit out of Fred, but it doesn’t seem to bother him too terribly much.
When we’re going somewhere, he’ll say to me “Are you ready?”
And I will invariably say “Yes.”
So he will get up and he will get his shoes on, and he will wait by the door.
“Oh, I have to pee,” I say, because I’m always afraid we’ll get halfway to where we’re going and have to pee, even if it’s like two minutes away.
Fred stands patiently by the door.
“Oh, I need to fill my water bottle,” I say, because I don’t want to get thirsty, do I? WHAT IF I GET THIRSTY? WHATEVER WOULD WE DO?!
Fred stands patiently by the door.
“Oh, I need to get gum,” I say, because I’m a gum-chewing motherfucker and am always running out of gum.
Fred stands patiently by the door.
You get the idea. It takes me five to seven minutes, on average, to actually BE ready to walk out the door. If it were me standing there and waiting by the door, I would be SERIOUSLY annoyed at having to wait for someone who claimed she was ready to leave. Fred will sometimes go outside to wait for me but usually waits by the door, because we almost always take my car, and if he takes my keys and goes out to the car, I’ll have no house key with which to lock the door.
Probably what Fred needs to start doing is asking me five minutes before he’s ready to go if I’m ready to go, so that I’ll have five minutes to get all my shit done and my ass ready to walk out the door before he actually goes and gets his shoes on.
Except that I’d probably be annoyed at having to wait for him to get his shoes on.
There’s really no winning with me, is there?
Speaking of no winning with me, I have a question for y’all – how many goddamn times a day do you have to answer “What’s for dinner?”
Before the spud moved to Rhode Island*, every day she’d get home from school and ask “What’s for dinner?”
I’d tell her.
Fred would get home from work and ask “What’s for dinner?”
I’d tell him.
Sometimes directly after dinner, the spud would say “What’s for dinner tomorrow night?”
I’d tell her.
Then she’d come home from school and say “What’s for dinner?”
I’d tell her.
And on and on.
(Sometimes if I’d already answered the question the night before, I’d refuse to answer it again. I AM NOT THE DINNER ORACLE.)
These days, there’s one less person in the house, but I seem to answer the question with the same frequency.
Yesterday, Fred got home from work. “Are we having enchiladas for dinner?” he asked.
“No, we’re having chicken pot pie,” I said. “Well, unless you’d rather have enchiladas. Both the enchiladas and pot pie are ready to be put in the oven, we could have pot pie tomorrow night instead.”
“Pot pie’s fine, I just couldn’t remember.” (From the conversation about dinner we’d had the night before, that is.)
We ate dinner. Fred went into the kitchen to do the dishes and put the leftovers away.
“Are we having pot pie again tomorrow night?” he asked.
“No, we’re having it Friday,” I said.
In a most puzzled manner, he said “Then what are we having tomorrow night?”
“ENCHILADAS.”
I AM NOT THE DINNER ORACLE. If he asks when he gets home from work, I will beat him over the head with the dish of enchiladas, I swear it.
*She moved to Rhode Island to live with her father and go to college. She is currently taking the semester off. (I only say this because every time I mention the child, someone searches on “Why did the spud move to Rhode Island?”)
It cracks me up when I look out the window and see the dogs laying on the ground in front of the coop, dead to the world.
Poor exhausted pups.
From left to right, a regular egg from one of our chickens (most of our eggs look like this; I have no way of knowing who laid it); an egg from either a Featherhead or the Rock Star; and a Silkie egg.
I don’t know what freaked Kara out, but she raced in from the back yard through the cat door, through the house, and didn’t stop ’til she was on the landing. See the puffed-out tail? It stayed puffed-out like that for several minutes before she calmed down.
Previously
2008: “I’ve lost Joe, and Fred is going to kill me,” I informed Mister Boogers, who glared at me and went back to sleep.
2007: I do NOT know why the fuck I’m such an idiot.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: Sounds like corporate logic, to me – cable guys having to service DVRs when they don’t know anything at all about them.
2003: Uninspired.
2002: Dude, what the fuck? They don’t have mirrors on Boston Public?
2001: My husband, Narcissus.
2000: No entry.
What annoys me is when someone says “Are you ready?” when I am CLEARLY not ready. If I was ready, I would tell them I was ready, or grabbing my purse and keys. My mother does this to me all the time when I’m visiting her. I’ll be in the bathroom, door closed, and she calls out “Are you ready?” Um….NO. 🙂
I cannot stand being asked “What’s for dinner?” My hubby usually calls to tell me when he’s left the office so I can have a gauge as to when he’ll be home. & every night he asks “What are we having for dinner?” even though I have told him about eleventy billion times not to do that. It just makes me postal and if I end up accidentally killing him one day (oops), that will be why. I used to do it to my mother and I have since apologized profusely. I like your thought of not being the Dinner Oracle. I may have to use that.
Oh that makes me crazy too, usually I just answer “food”. Like does it matter what we are having, you are going to eat it not matter what, so just shut up and be suprised, life has few to many suprises anyway.
I think we should all make a pact to tell them what’s NOT for dinner when they ask.
“What’s for dinner?”
“NOT breast of chicken flambe with brandied cherry sauce!”
You’re going to hate me, but I’m the Fred in our house. I’m the one who is READY and has to wait for whomever to get their shit together. And my husband (or son) does the cooking so I’m also the one who asks what’s for dinner. However, I usually don’t ask because I DON’T CARE because I’m not responsible for creating it. I’m sort of of the opinion that if it’s being prepared for me, then all I have to do is shut up, show up and eat up!
On weekends, either WHILE we’re eating breakfast or just after, Robert asks what we’re having for dinner.
Gah.
Can’t you see I’m still two whole meals away? I have NO IDEA what we’re having for dinner! When I really blow a gasket over it, I answer, “Whatever you’re making, dear.” Shuts him up every time.
When my brother and I were young, on the way home from the babysitters, we’d usually ask what was for dinner. My mother usually answered with “Shit on a stick.” I always loved that and use it frequently now myself.
Regarding getting ready to leave the house – I am usually ready before my husband. But, to be fair, apparently I don’t look ready until right before we leave, and it’s really hard for Edmund to judge. Like I could be getting dressed and be ready two minutes later. It’s easier on both of us if I tell him that I’ll be ready to go in 5 minutes. That way I am justified in being POed if he is taking too long =0). If that’s the case, sometimes I just go out to the car to save him from my histrionics.
Suggestion re: dinner. If the menu is planned out, maybe you could write it down on the fridge. That way, all you’d have to do is point.
Dee – have you ever had “Shit on a Shingle”? Usually some beef in gravy served over toast. We had it sometimes as kids, my dad would say they served it when he was in the Army.
On the South Beach diet, the first 2 weeks are the most specific in what you can/can’t eat, so I made a menu list and posted it on the fridge. Those were the most peaceful 2 weeks of my life! Maybe I should do that again…
I am another who says “food” and no other info. They will find some aversion to whatever I am making. If they bug me I say squirrel, snake, possum, etc. Anything they know in a million years I would not prepare. 😉
The “What’s for dinner” question drives my insane! I have 4 children. One will come through, while I am getting it ready and can SEE what I am doing, ask what’s for dinner. There is generally another kid less than 10 feet away who clearly should have heard, not to mention I heard the original asker go to the living room to report what I said. THEN the kid who was standing near enough to hear will wander through and ask. Umm…. Then the other 2 will mosey in and ask me Again after I heard them receive the report from the original asker. The wee one (just turned 4) will run laps around the house and ask no less than 10 times “what’s for dinner.” *sigh* It drives me absolutely batshit crazy!!! Glad to know I am not alone on this one, but it will still irritate me nonetheless. I just put a roast in the slow cooker and they will smell it when they get home and will look at it so they may get slapped today when they ask, which is inevitable that they will ALL ask. heh
My husband is like you. He says he’s ready and I’m waiting at the door while he looks for his keys or wallet or something else. In our house he’s known as “the slowest man in the world.” When he gets home from work it takes him several minutes to gather himself and his belongs and walk into the house. It used to drive me crazy, but I’m used to it now.
Ok, I love Kara and am thrilled that you have adopted her, AND I read you daily – can you point to the place where you discuss adopting her. For some reason I don’t remember this.
Not only do my husband and son always ask what’s for dinner, but I plan our meals a week in advance and post the menu on the fridge and they still do it!!! I now use the “food” response! 🙂
Your “delay” when you’re ready is funny and reminds me of where I work. We’ll decide (the 4 of us) to go to lunch, say, at 11:30, and announce beforehand that we need to leave at 11:30 to beat the rush. Inevitably, the same two people seem to wait until 11:30 to go to the bathroom and the rest of us have to stand outside the bathroom with our purses and coats on, waiting for them to be through, and of course, we end up leaving at 11:40 which doesn’t help us beat the lunch rush. When someone tells me 11:30, I hit the restroom at 11:25 or earlier so that nobody’s waiting and we can leave on time. I don’t have the patience of your husband, but I keep it inside and don’t gripe because I have to work with these ladies.
Great Pyrs always look like they are the laziest dogs in the world but really by nature the are nocturnal. My two pyrs and my cats can cause more havoc in the middle of the night than anything I have every seen. You can’t be a light sleeper with a pyr in the house.
I can’t tell where one dog ends, and the other begins!
All your animals have such a rough life there on Crooked Acres!
Ha! I totally do the same thing whenever my husband and I go anywhere. He says, “are you ready,” and I invariably have to go pee (just for those same reasons- you don’t want to get stuck when you are driving!) and I have to put on my shoes, and I have to make sure where the cats are so they aren’t closed up somewhere for hours while we are gone, and I usually have to close the 6 applications I have open on my computer and put the computer to sleep, etc…. He’s gotten in the habit of notifying me 5 minutes before we have to go somewhere because of these things! I drive him nuts with it, but it amuses him all the same. I am lucky that he is so patient!
We also got the ‘shit on a stick’ response to ‘what’s for dinner’ when growing up! 🙂 I also HATE that question with fire of a thousand suns!! My kids pretty much have stopped asking it but my response is either ‘food’ or ‘poop…poop on a stick’ (as my kids are 12, 7 and 2…the older one will get the ‘shit on a stick’ response! *G*)
I guess my mom DIDN’T make up the ‘shit on a stick’ response! 🙂
I can not leave any home without using the facilities. I was well trained to “go now so you aren’t bugging us to stop somewhere” and the lesson stuck for life. I am the slowpoke holding up the production when we go somewhere. Don’t feel guilty-I pick up his damn socks and undies etc. he can put up with my quirks.
Oh how I envy anyone with a husband who cooks. My favorite answer to the dreaded dinner question is reservations. My second favorite answer is take out. I may try food or shit on a stick. My best friends children’s friends have the audacity to complain about what is on the menu when they stay for dinner. Drives my friend crazy and she always will say “If whoever’s Mom gave me shit on a stick I would have eaten it and never complained.”
My son always asks what’s for dinner, and I’m sad to say that usually my answer is, “I don’t know, I haven’t gotten that far yet.”
When we’re eating out (as we so frequently do, see first paragraph), he regularly sets my hair on fire by waiting until I have a forkful of food 2/3ds of the way to my lips and asking, “Are you ready to go?” I’m STILL EATING, does it LOOK like I’m ready to go??!
In his defense, he has some weird stomach thing where the smell of food makes him nauseated if he’s not actually eating it, so when he’s saying “Are you ready to go” what he means is, “I’m finished eating and I’m about to hurl because there’s food on the table in front of me.” But still.
I love the big-tail-y picture of Kara. She looks like she is ready for whatever freaked her out to be right behind her, and is formulating her plan.
That’s the great thing about the really good guys, they do not complain at the silly little things we do that would annoy the heck out of a lot of people. I think it’s a way of telling that they really love us. I do the same thing and the hubby doesn’t complain about it, just has patience.
I get that when I come back from the grocery store. “What did you get, huh, huh?” I say ‘Food’, and get rolled eyes. Then I say “Come help me put it away, and you’ll find out.”
It works. Sometimes. 🙂
I am also a ‘How the hell should I know what’s for dinner? I’m not there yet” person.
Just curious, but don’t the dogs get kind of…um….well….covered in chicken shit?? Living in with the chickens and all, I mean. How do you keep them clean? Do they get brushed and taken on walks ever?