Anyone who knows me knows me, knows that My Mister and I … sometimes, very politely … may not see eye-to-eye on things, at times, Reader, not all the times. A lot of the times, though, not just a small amount of the times. Many of the times, maybe. Maybe.
And when we don’t see eye-to-eye, well, we also may not approach those differences in the same manner either. Because we are two very different peoples, Reader, and NOT the SAME Peoples, and yes, I know that’s not the right plural but I like it because I’ve been drinking thinking with a glass of something maybe in my hand or maybe not, who’s asking?
When I tend to see things with a different eye, I may – at times – it may or may not have been said – I may just get a little sweary and loud about it, and let’s just call it Airing My Grievances So There Is No Miscommunication About What I Find Annoying AF. Because I’m a truth speaker, Reader.
My Mister, on the other hand, is a MASTER at Passive-Aggressing against me. A MASTER. A MASTERPASSAGRESSOR. He will do things he knows I h. a. t. e. just to kinda stick it to me when I don’t even know what I could have done to annoy him, other than try to make him a BETTER MAN with a BETTER LIFE. But still, he may PA against me for no good reason at all if you ask me.
So the other night when I went to bed, I noticed a GIANT PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE SIZED FOOT PRINT on my pillowcase. The very same pillowcase on which I lay my pretty little head.
What in the literal EFFF is happening here, Reader?
Me, to My Mister, later that night because he was not home at the time I found the offending shoe print on my pillowcase: “Did you passive aggress against me because I MAKE YOU A BETTER HUMAN by insisting you sleep with a pillowcase on your pillow??”
Yes, I know, there’s quite a bit to unpack there.
My Mister and I have had bed wars since the beginning of time over my insistence he sleep with a pillow case on his pillow like a civilized human being because he does not LIKE pillowcases, but that is stupid and we are adults and you will sleep with a pillowcase on your pillow or YOU WILL GET OUT AND SLEEP SOMEWHERE ELSE I may have very bossily quietly said over and over at one time.
He mostly resists the pillowcase because he flops around so much in his sleep that somehow he jams his pillow into the wrought-iron design of the headboard and it gets stuck there and then he’s yanking his pillow out of the clutches of the headboard VERY NOISILY AND AGGRESSIVELY at 3 a.m. to make sure I know about it. Yes, that’s a true scenario that just happened a few nights ago. Don’t sleep on your pillow like a dick, was my response. Use your pillow accurately.
So anyway. I noticed the giant clod-hopper footprint on my pillow case and immediately accused politely inquired with My Mister, all the while insisting he take off his shoe so I could perform a Forensic-File-worthy tread match up.
My Mister: “So let me get this straight: You think I could lift my leg all the way up on the bed to stomp on your pillowcase to stick it to you for some reason?”
Trixie: “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I don’t think you could lift your leg all the way up on the bed and stomp on my pillow. I think you may have thrown my pillow onto the ground, stomped on it, and then put it back up on the bed.”
My Mister: “Well that at least makes more sense.”
Does that make sense to you, Reader? That we are adults living together for a gazillion years, and it’s not out of scope for one of us to think the other has intentionally stomped on the other’s pillow??
Trixie: “So. Did you stomp your giant clodhopper onto my pillowcase?”
My Mister: “No, of course I wouldn’t intentionally step on your pillow!”
Trixie: “So. Unintentionally, was my pillow knocked on the floor and you stomped on it with your giant filthy foot?”
My Mister insisted no. I was not convinced. At all.
Until the next morning when my fresh pillowcase had MORE tell-tale stomp marks on it!
What. In. The. Fuck. Was. Happening.
And then, Reader. And then.
Like the good detective that I am from watching thousands of hours of crime shows, I realized there was one thing different going on in my bed. And that different thing was my new black satin eye mask I had recently purchased because I can’t get into my REM if there’s the weensy bit of light in the room, and so I go through eye masks on the regular.
The Maxx didn’t have my normal preference in eye mask, with the little eye socket dimples, but this new one is surprisingly comfortable.
And maybe perhaps it was the thing actually aggressing against me.
So I pulled it off and lined it up to the mark on my pillowcase and ding-ding-ding we have a match, Reader, and the very item I paid $12 for is actually my filthy pillowcase maker.
The good news is, I am not being aggressed against by My Mister in bed. Ahem.
The bad news is, it wasn’t out of scope to think he perhaps was intentionally stomping on my pillow. Or even unintentionally just stepping on it should it have fallen to the floor, and I’m frankly not sure which scenario is the worse scenario.
Lastly, both My Mister and I both realize that his lifting his leg all the way up onto the mattress is a pipe dream of his long-ago youth, and there’s no way either of us believe he could execute that move.
And there you have it. Just a little insight into more of my dysfunctional relationship, my propensity to immediately cast blame, the drama of insisting we sleep with appropriate bedding, and what goes on behind closed doors at Chez Bang Bang. I know. You’re jealous. Not Sorry.