Following is the story my husband will put at the top of his list of grievances if he files for a divorce from me. The judge will not even need to read the rest of the complaint; Ian will get 100% of the settlement and I will have to live in a cardboard box in the field behind my office.
At 11 o’clock I went home for lunch. Ian had taken Adele to a summer band lesson and they were going to pick up lunch but weren’t quite back yet. While I was waiting I thought I would do something productive and went downstairs to do some laundry. While standing in front of the washer I caught a strong whiff of cat urine, which I’m sure I don’t need to tell you was supremely unpleasant. It seemed to be coming from the sink next to the washer so I turned on the hot water in the sink, hoping it would rinse away the smell while I finished with the laundry. While I was loading up the washer I heard Ian and Adele arrive, so I finished the laundry and joined them all upstairs.
We had some potatoes left over from lunch so my saintly husband suggested I bring the remainder to the office for my pregnant coworker (which I probably would have done anyway, but I still think he deserves credit for suggesting it.)
Around 1pm I moved from my desk up to the reception desk while my coworker went on her break; I forgot my cell phone back at my own desk. When I got back to my desk I saw Ian had texted me twice.
The first: “Did you turn on the hot water in the basement?”
It was not until I read these words that I realized I had completely forgotten to turn off the hot water after I finished the laundry. Fuuuuuuuuuuudge.
The second text (paraphrased): “You WILL pay for this.” You see, the first text was sent right around the time Ian would have been taking a shower before going to work. A shower which would have been icy cold due to the complete absence of hot water owing to the fact that his space cadet of a wife had left the hot water running in the basement sink for over 2 hours. *facepalm*
I am SO screwed. I’ll spend the rest of my life worrying about how he will pay me back for this massive faux pas, imagining increasingly horrific schemes of vengeance which are sure to come. Probably not until I’ve forgotten all about this and then I’ll say “hey, what’d I ever do to you?!” And he’ll say “The frigid shower incident of 2012.”
And there’s no point complaining because if I tell anyone what he did, he’ll just say “Yes, but she made me take a shower with no hot water. NONE.” And they’ll be like “Oh, carry on then Ian. Do you need any help with that?”