I told my husband a year ago that I wish he wouldn’t pay to get the Atlanta Journal-Constitution delivered to our house. I had two reasons for feeling this way and I felt they were totally valid and that hands down I should get my way.
1. I work for the news. I do not need news delivered to my home in paper form. Kevin could just, you know, read the news I write online. Does he not trust me or something?! Just because I mainly like to write up stories about zebras getting away from the circus and running down the interstate doesn’t mean I don’t (sometimes) post really valid news stories (because I have to or else I’ll get fired.)
2. I knew he wouldn’t pick them up. And then the end of our driveway would turn into a trash can for papers. And then I’d have to pick them up. And they would always be wet because even though our address says Atlanta it’s been more like Seattle lately. And it would be gross. And I was smart to think this because THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED!
So anyway…he ignored my two valid points and we started receiving the paper.
And our recycling bin started getting full with wet, soggy, run over papers that were never opened. And my husband started getting annoyed every time I brought up my two valid points because I started doing it every day.
And after a year…he caved.
But that’s not the end of this story. Because now the AJC is stalking me.
One day last week, I’d worked for hours trying to get Tom to sleep. He wasn’t really having it but I was working on it anyway. He’d been up for hours and I thought he (me) needed a nap.
You know what happened next: I got him down. I was finally getting my nap. My eyes had closed for approximately 15 minutes when my phone rang.
It was the AJC. Did I want to start receiving their paper again?
NO! (I answered them so sweetly…I swear.)
I got off the phone and I was steaming. I knew they had already called a couple times that day when I was busy working to get Tom to sleep. They had actually called that morning at 8:45 a.m. And again at 10:30 a.m. And then during the nap at 2:30 p.m.
Yes, I was mighty mad. I mean, I was Irish temper mad. Redhead mad.
Because it’s all his fault! If he had just listened to me to begin with, I would’ve gotten my nap! And I wouldn’t be getting harassed by a stupid newspaper!
So when he got home from work and he innocently asked, “How was your day?” I gave him the look and said, “Well, it was awful because the AJC is constantly calling because of you! And I didn’t get my nap! I told you not to get that paper to begin with!”
I don’t think I really needed to tell him I didn’t get a nap. I’m thinking he could tell.
Anyway, I was ready for a fight. I was ready for him to tell me I was being ridiculous. I was just flat out ready.
And instead of laughing at me (which, let’s face it, would’ve gotten him killed) he said, “I’m sorry.”
Well…you should be.