Ok, I'm a head banger. I LOVE my husband, but that doesn't elevate either of us to perfection. We will have been married 33 years this coming July, and there are still mysteries in our marriage that I just don't get.
This is a man who built a 4000 square foot house to accommodate my MS and for that alone he will be immediately transported to heaven upon taking his last breath. But why can't he put his own dishes in the dishwasher? It has taken him 33 years to get his detritus somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen, and sometimes he even makes it into the sink, but INTO THE DW, not yet.
You know you're a head banger when you spend the am rounding up dishes from different crime scenes and put 'em in the dishwasher yourself. You do it for your over-all life, the "GREATER GOOD." But when all is said and done, when the dishwasher is rumbling into sterility, you bang your head against the wall and promise yourself you'll get him to load his own (and I'm not talking about ammo!).
Apparently it's something they don't teach 'em in engineering school; that, and "Don't Pile Crap Everywhere in the House 101." ;)
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