The kitchen grinds to a halt
Captain OCD needs one egg:
- Double the recipe so he can use two eggs?
- Crack two and pour the other one on the dog food?
- Delay the making of scones until he can come up with a new design to achieve symmetry?
Who has Food Network on an infinite loop?
This was not a photo op: I caught it while Captain OCD was getting out the little bowls into which he was about to premeasure herbs and spices. The cheery little Christmas arrangement on the windowsill? All him.
This is how we sync our shopping lists
I get wistful when reading reviews of shopping apps: How wonderful that she can see on their mutual shopping list, shared among devices, that he’s already picked up the gin on the way home from work so all she has to do is grab a couple of limes. And while Dad’s still at the store, those crazy kids add ice cream bars to the list while they’re still at bassoon practice.
Our kids don’t live here, so no shopping-list shenanigans there, and the only app that Captain OCD will ever use is the one that dials another phone.
This morning, I realized that we do sync our shopping list between devices:
My device is the camera on my phone, his device is the marker board in the kitchen.
New flowers
To go with the new fuel pumps.
What kind are they? Orange.
Meanwhile, I’ll be replacing my fuel pumps
Captain OCD often surprises me with pretty little flower arrangements, most of the time just a few blooms in a tiny vase with a bit of ancillary greenery that wouldn’t have occurred to me to use. Usually they’re composed of flowers I don’t even know we have because he’ll take them from a hanging basket or a weed or a tree that I didn’t know had flowers, so they’re that much more of a pleasant surprise. He’ll go outside in the morning, sometimes with a flashlight, to find a flower he remembers seeing at the end of a clump of ornamental grass. His eye is what I wish mine were: organic and natural and creative. I try to do what he does and the result looks like something the dog might have tossed together while wearing boxing gloves.
Yesterday I came home to this on the bathroom counter:
Not till tonight did it occur to me that we don’t have any rose bushes. His sister, however, who lives next door and left for work before he did yesterday, does.
The reason I’m replacing my fuel pumps and not him? Because the same guy who composes beautiful flowers into such delicate, happy arrangements doesn’t see why one needs anything more than muscles, a pry bar, an adjustable wrench, and a ten-pound sledge to work on a car.
Shit my dad would have never said, but my husband does
Dad, your CD player is broken. The drawer won’t shut.
What’s that thing?
Your CD player.
Whose is it?
It’s yours. It’s broken.
We have a CD player?
This explains why all of my spontaneously generated electronic gadgets are rarely noticed. And why there’s no need for a data package on his cell phone line.