So, here we go. An ALL TIME blowout argument ensued today on the phone when the female unit called whilst I was at work to ask: “WHERE THE FUCK IS MY [SPA NAME HERE] GIFT CARD???????????”
First of all, let’s back up a minute.
- I moved into your house, which is now OUR house, in 2015.
- Your gift card to said spa, at the time of my viewing it (when cleaning the bedroom), was most likely from 2009. These things have expirations. Why all of a sudden do you need to use it?
- I bought you a $250 gift car to ANOTHER SPA for Christmas this year, which you claim to, “never have day before openings on your days off from work.” (Naaahhhhhttttt my problem, try planning a bit ahead of time).
Ok, now that said background information has been posted, why is this my fault or responsibility? Most likely, because I am the cuckhold who thought it was “gentlemanly” of me to vacuum, dust, do laundry, and generally organize the home for a Mom of two upon moving in as a gesture of kindness and a signal that I’m “doing my part.”
Fast forward to present day, I’m still stuck doing this, and have added “doing dishes” to my never-ending list of things I vowed NEVER to do, “when I grow up,” but here I stand.
These behaviors have me as being known to the whole family that I throw things away and are to be blamed for the lost items that are so coveted after years of said items being generally irrelevant or forgotten about.
Truth be told, I am a notorious “throw away” kind of guy. I believe in the old add-age that if you haven’t used it or thought about it in two weeks, it needs to be in the garbage. I take this mentality into account for old paperwork, work shit, school flyers, and things like that.
BUT, after being BERATED for the first or second straight year of my being with this woman, I have retired the notion and have generally kept all of her belongings as far away from the garbage as possible. Since taking on my new attitude, I remain the scapegoat for items being lost, misplaced, or even thrown away by others, including: HER very own birth certificate AND social security card, which were, DRUMROLL PLEASE, found IN THE GARAGE.
Yes, IN THE FUCKING GARAGE. In a garbage bag, from her old car, which lasted about a MONTH into our relationship and I had ZERO hand in cleaning out prior to its disposal to the junk yard. There you have it folks, a win for you boy right here in the flesh. I celebrated so hard that day I almost ran through the streets naked. I couldn’t believe I hands-down proved her wrong.
But now, here I sit, minutes from leaving the office for our weekly Wednesday 4:30PM blue plate special dinner (because her brother joins us for the meal and needs to be OUT by 6:35pm in order to meet is fiancee at their home in Boston for dinner #2) not knowing what rage awaits me at home. Did she find the gift card? Did she end up actually using the thing?
One may never know, because you bet your pasty white ass that I’m taking this argument to the wall. The Banana is going ATOMIC, because I know I sure as hell never threw away that goddamned gift card. I’d bet the house on it.