No, we still haven’t got internet at home. I can’t even remember what I’ve been doing the last two weeks. Mostly attempting to organise the flat while being stupidly busy and not often at home, which is difficult. We don’t have a microwave and I’m getting strangely fond feelings for things like mixing bowls. I need to bake. It’s my age right? I’ve been to roller derby practice (another girl broke her leg, ouch) and home to Yorkshire for a weekend for my grandmother’s 80th birthday.
But I’m not here to write about any of that. I’m here to continue to show my pettiness when it comes to my bed. Remember last year and the good pillow? Nothing has changed much since then, and moving in just means Max can’t escape to his own ‘perfect’ bed any more. The problem this time is my duvet. Max has issues with it. I got rid of his in a fit of consolidation, because it was old and thin and, well, gross, and mine was just nicer. Girl stuff is, isn’t it? But then he moaned about mine not being as big as his, to the point I actually laid them both out to prove that they were in fact the exact same size. Point to Carrie. It’s still not right he says. I go away this weekend and at some point in one of our exciting conversations he tells me he’s ‘fixed’ my duvet and it now covers his feet as it should. Great. I get home to see it laid cross ways on the bed, so the buttons are on the side. I really really hate it when the buttons aren’t at the bottom, but decided if it made him happy and covered his damn feet then so be it. I’d change it around properly when I had a minute.
Problem (such as it is) solved right?
Cut to last night and getting in bed and Max is getting comfortable and then sighs and says again that the bed is wrong. He turns the duvet around so the buttons are at the bottom (where they always had been when I make the bed) and says ‘That’s better!’ and turns over to go to sleep.
OH MY FUCKING GOD.
Now, I know that in the grand scheme of things this is not the end of the world, and I’m sure somewhere there’s some wise person going ‘Pick your battles’ and this would not be one of them, but for god’s sake. That’s how it has always been! I say. You put it the other way with the goddamn buttons on the side and said it was fixed. No, he says, you must have moved it when you made the bed. Oh so it’s my fault is it? Welcome to Midnight at the Overreaction Palace.
I swear to god he does this shit just to wind me up.
Up next in Living With a Man Chronicles, we visit how Max owns four t shirts and five hundred thousand pairs of white socks.