The subject of divorce

Even after almost a decade together, I still find myself learning things about my better half.

The day we stop learning about each other is the day we stop caring and that would be the end of our marriage. Just the thought of it is both heartbreaking and inconceivable.

I guess that too would be the day I die.


We had a huge fight recently and broached the subject of D. Before I continue, obviously we have sorted both our grievances out.

Anyway, after we made up, the hubs mentioned that he read something about men earning 17% more after divorce while women 11% less after divorce.

Then he smiled like a troll.

I told him if we ever split up, he better be earning 300% more to spite me because I’d land a stud that would put his net worth to shame.

He asked me how in hell would I be able to do that.

“Well, first I’d get fitter. Then I’d get a subtle nose job. Possibly growing my hair long again cause men love that sort of thing. A new wardrobe of course. All with the money I got from our hypothetical divorce and some extra aiding by my awesome personality.”

Vacuuming or magic mopping?

My relationship with my boyfriend is filled with negotiations and deals. For instance, just a moment ago, I successfully negotiated my way out of vacuuming the house and drying Charlie up in exchange for him giving the mutt a full bath. Instead, I got to magic mop the whole house and comb him.

He thinks that magic mop is a farce and is essentially just pushing dirt around. I begged to differ. In fact, I think magic mop is one of the best inventions there is. I’m sure a lot of women would agree with me. At first, he asked why don’t I appreciate the vacuum cleaner. My answer to that: I can’t handle the long cable, and that someone should invent wireless vacuum cleaner (which I know exists and yes, I need to get one someday).

He called me a knob and then okayed to magic mopping but said that if he found the tiniest fluff of Charlie’s hair anywhere I would have to vacuum because it proves that magic mop is a sham. I told him to piss off cause even if I had vacuumed instead he would have found fluff somewhere…because I don’t have good eyes – my eyes trick me to think that the floors are clean. And he was like, you’re full of shit. I’m like no…I’ve got astigmatism, the light bounces off the floor and make me see things differently.

And then he groaned, mustered something unintelligibly and went on to wash Charlie, then dried him with a towel. I magic mopped the whole house in under 5 minutes including replacing the cleaning sheets (magic mop IS magic), blogged this and is about to watch tele while sipping a tall glass of fizzy tonic and apple juice concoction. The man’s probably going to comb Charlie later on too, I know I’ll figure out something to say.

So yes ladies and gentlemen, the moral of this story is that: if you want to get out of something, keep on…talking, even if it doesn’t make sense.