I have heard it said that opposites attract.
Well if that is the case it’s a wonder my husband and I can bear to move apart.
Every day I observe the many differences there are between us.
Not the ones we all speak of,
like our physical differences or differences in pay packets.
No I am talking of the many everyday differences I’ve discovered over twenty years of marriage.
He is quite neat. Not exactly OCD neat but definitely neater than I am.
I like to have the kitchen clean and relatively tidy,
and likewise the sitting room so I can relax at night,
other than that I’m not too upset on a daily basis if things aren’t perfect.
If I do go mad and tidy, the one room which is usually left til
never last, is our bedroom.
In the early years of our marriage,
I was unaware this bothered my husband.
Until one summer when my husband said it did, in his usual round the town sort of way.
It was at a time when our children were very young and life was hectic.
Our bedroom had a cot in it, and baby changing equipment,
empty baby bottles, soothers, creams and nappies.
As well as the baby bits, there were piles of clothes.
Now when I say piles this may lead you to believe they were neatly folded.
Sadly no, what I mean is that they were piled high on the floor,
whilst various other pieces of clothing were strewn around.
You could barely see the covers on the bed with “stuff” on it.
I had, you could say, fallen way behind on laundry and tidying.
Anyway this particular Summer a business man was kidnapped in Ireland.
It was big news and a nationwide search was underway.
We were all following what was happening with great interest.
Then one evening whilst watching the news it was stated that maybe he was in the South.
We live in the south of the country.
A plea went out for everyone to be vigilant and on the look out.
Next thing my other half pipes up,
“I think I’ll give that number a ring”.
“What?, I said, have you seen something?”.
“No, says Mr Smartass, but I think he could be hidden in our bedroom”.
That was quite a number of years ago and I have tidied up my act somewhat.
However apart from him hating to see me crunching up money notes,
the next thing we “disagree” over most is the heat in the house.
Let me enlighten you all.
We have a gas boiler which has a timer switch.
You can leave it on all the time, ( not possible as my other half would have a stroke),
or you can put it on in half hourly bursts.
Each segment you push down is a half hour of heat.
This is how we go about our daily lives.
I get up and curse under my breath that the heat is not on.
I go into the utility room and push on the heat using my thumb.
This means I press down at least 5 segments which equals 2.5 hours of heat.
Without discussion my husband goes into the utility and pulls up three of them.
This is how it goes on all the time.
I complain constantly that it is cold.
Each time I do he says the same thing,
“I’m not cold at all”.
Why he says this I don’t know because I do not care what the temperature of his body is.
Since then it’s been all downhill.
Even Mr “I’m never cold” is feeling the pinch.
The bad news is it will be Wednesday before we can get it fixed.
The good news is two days are nearly over.
As I sit here typing tonight I am well wrapped up.
There is a fire blazing and the temperature in the room is, thankfully, just perfect.
However not everything is perfect.
My wine is in the fridge,
which is in the freezing kitchen,
via the Siberian hall.
Oh and will I tell you another of our differences?
My husband doesn’t drink!