So a few months ago I had a hysterectomy. And it wasn’t that bad. The recovery was pretty easy and I was only really laid up for a week. The best part of the whole experience was the gifts I received. Who knew you got presents for having half your vagina taken out. Had someone told me this, I would have gone out and registered.
Oh well, live and learn.
Anyway, by far the best present I got was a coffee mug that my nephew made for me. All right, I’m not *positive* he made it *for* me, but he made it in pottery class and sent it to me. And I LOVED it.
I started using it every day and bragged to everyone about how this mug made me so happy.
If I could have sex with this mug I would
One morning I went to the kitchen and opened the cupboard to retrieve my lovely mug. And it was gone. I looked in the sink–not there. Then the dishwasher–nope, not there either. I went to check my car. Maybe I’d accidentally left it in there the day before. No mug.
I grabbed a not so perfect mug and filled it with coffee. I went to the front room to say good morning to Tommy, who’d gotten up before me. And what did I find? HE WAS USING MY COFFEE MUG.
*MY* favorite coffee mug that my nephew painstakingly made for me with his very own hands. And also with tears that fell from his face as he weeped for his ailing, vagina-less aunt. (for dramatic effect of course–I’m not sure there were *actual* tears, perhaps only a sniffle–or not, whatever)
I looked at the mug and then at him. And then back at the mug.
The passive/aggressive side of me wouldn’t let me say anything. Instead the aggressive side began searching the room for something hard to hit him over the head with. What? The lamp? No, I like that lamp. Hmm. The room is filled with books. I scanned the shelves looking for the biggest one. Dammit, why don’t they make books thick and heavy anymore? Fucking Kindle. Just then, I saw the ottoman. Yes, I could pick up the ottoman and throw it at him. Surely that would smart. And then as he’s laying on the floor in pain from being clobbered in the neck by a huge piece of furniture, I could grab my mug and run.
It sounded like the perfect plan.
But I didn’t do it.
Instead I burned holes in his head with my eyes and left the room with the not so perfect coffee mug.
The next day the same thing happened. He beat me to *my* mug. Again.
And then the next day the same thing happened. I realized then that Tommy hates me. I mean, what other explanation is there for this kind of behavior? Why did he insist on using *my* coffee mug?
It’s my favorite mug in the whole world! I mean, didn’t he listen to me when I went on and on and on about how much this mug made me happy? Clearly, he wants me to be unhappy.
After more than a week of “cock blocking” me, I devised a plan. I would make sure I was the first one up. It was genius. I mean there’s no way my plan wouldn’t work, right?
Wrong.
For some reason, Tommy started setting his alarm for 5:30. A FULL thirty minutes before I get up. And I know it’s because he wanted to beat me to the mug! His evil knows no limits.
But still, I’d never said anything to him. UNTIL yesterday.
I walked into the front room, holding a not so perfect coffee mug in my hand, and said, “Listen here, mister, that coffee mug is mine and I haven’t got to use it in WEEKS because you beat me to it every day. I would really like to use *my* coffee mug if you don’t mind.”
He picked up the mug that *used* to be mine and said, “But I love this mug. It’s the perfect size and everything.”
“Uh, yeah, I know. But you’re missing the key part of the story here. IT’S MINE.”
“Fine. I’ll have my brother ask David if he’ll make one for me.”
“Good for you. Now hand over the mug.”
So this morning I was all set to burn more holes in the back of Tommy’s head for beating me to the mug yet again, but was happily surprised to see that he set it in front of the coffee pot for me with a note that said, “Don’t say I didn’t do anything for you.”
Right. Cuz it wasn’t *my* mug to begin with.
The moral of the story? Marriage is about compromise. And trying to get through the day without throwing furniture at each other.
The End.
{ 18 comments… read them below or add one }
I’m positive we can figure out a way for you to have sex with that mug. Let me think on it a bit and get back to you. Buh-Bye.
We’re married to clones. We are. I’m sure of it.
We need to compare notes. I’m checking plane ticket prices to DFW.
How did this happen?!?!?
(oh, and if you succeed on sex with the mug as per the above….take notes and share, please.)
Does the mug, perhaps, have any vibrating function? still thinking…
Maybe if you actually do have sex with the mug, he will be less inclined to take it. Make up something disturbing so the image is locked in his brain forever associating the mug to such disturbance.
But really, why can’t you just share? Doesn’t a true compromise mean he gets to use it sometimes?
…pee in the mug, Shauna. Let him see ya do it.
That’ll do it.
Uh, er, or…well…you’ll have a new problem on your hands.
Ah marriage. You make it sound so easy!
This is exactly the reason why my husband and I don’t share anything. All our furniture is too heavy to throw, so we keep separate everything so we don’t start whipping knives. Selfishness: It’s How To Save A Marriage.
I have a mug that will not ever ever be touched by another. Not even to wash. I’ll wash it myself, pleaseandthankyounowgetyourFUCKINGhandsoff!
This makes me extremely glad DF doesn’t drink coffee. Leaves all the good mugs just for me!
Just wanted to thank you for dropping by my blog. Glad you got your fabulous mug back!
If he loves it so much, why didn’t he marry it, hm?
Hide all the good stuff. Always.
I feel seriously shortchanged on my vasectomy now.
That mug is sooo perfect!! I want one, too!!! Have Tommy order one for me, as well. I will pay S&H, even though I do not live in Canada.
It’s the perfect size and everything.
That was my favorite part.
I have a mug too. My husband has never gone near it. But sometimes we have company, and sometimes, because I’m a crappy hostess, the company chooses their own mug. Except they choose MY mug. And it drive me bat-shit crazy until they leave and I can wash it and reclaim it.
You acted perfectly rationally, in my opinion.
It appears that you have assumed (again) that Tommy can read your mind. If on the first day you had said, “That is my favorite mug and would you please leave it for me to use,” I believe he would have complied. Instead you used the “stare” as your method of communication. Cheeze Wiz. Just like your dad!
Did you win? I fell asleep….