Okay, I am sick. I sit here doped on Nyquil, and coughing every time I try to talk (boy is that killing me not to talk). The phone just rang for the third time. Now I don't know if I have ever mentioned, C is a planner. Oh, I don't that in the sense that we all make plans.... he does it to the point of psychosis. Before we leave the house he has an list of where we are going, in which order, and god help the world if one little thing goes wrong with his plan. Now ordinarily I just accept that he is a bit anal (insert your own joke here), but I am sick and more than a little annoyed that he is calling me to make plans I will not be there for. First he calls to tell me that he has to go to Ikea for shit that they got on sale. Kitchen stuff. Do we need anything else. No, then he is going to pick up groceries, is there anything I want... yes, I want to get the fuck off the phone so I can go back to sleep. It does not really matter if I suggest anyway because he has every meal planned out and why he needs so much of each. Now don't get me wrong. It's not that ordinarily it does not annoy the shit out of me. I'm human, and others obsessions of course drive me crazy. But usually I am a little more patient. Okay, perhaps patience has never been my most obvious virtue, but I usually have a sense of humour about his little quirks. But being sick I am low on the humour.
The second phone call was about whether or not he should get an oil change or wait until next weekend when he would go a few kilometres over the 5000 km that is recommended before another oil change. Does anyone NOT go over that number? I honestly think that it is only the old oil holding my mom's car together. And this is not like a babied car. This car is over 15 years old. C bought it because he can do all the work that may be required on it, barring anything going majorly wrong. In such case he'll probably just junk it and by another beater. Now, again, my input is not needed. He called so he could weight the pros and cons. Finally he decided with no input from me other than the occasional "uh huh" that he was going to change the oil.
Five minutes later he calls to tell me that he is putting on laundry and should he toss mine in with his. Then proceeds to tell me how he separates the loads. Like I need to approve of how my precious clothes are treated. You had me at you doing my laundry, no need to sell it. Now accept for a few items I get dry cleaned I really do laundry like ever other single guy on the planet, other than C. I wait until I have a load, then put them all in the washer. If I have miscalculated and there is more than one load, I just jam them in until the on two loads become one. C has FIVE, count them FIVE distinct loads. Yeah, great, shove mine in too. Then he tells me I sound terrible and should get some sleep. Grrrrrr.
I remember one day my Aunt commenting that you are not really in a relationship until those little cute quirks became annoying. My mother added, it's when those annoying quirks get to the point that you want to stab them in the eye with a pencil and don't... that is when you know it's love.