The Wife Speaketh (Mrs. Moog’s Five Commandments…OF DOOM!)

Posted: February 12, 2008 in meme, wife


You may need to push aside the milk to read this.

Give me a minute…you’ll get it.

The other day, I published Five Commandments that I would dictate if I was God.

(Keep in mind that my name is “Rod,” so – really – I’m only one letter off)

I’m supplementing those five commandments, with five commandments that I think my wife would make if SHE was God.

(for the record, her name isn’t even close – doesn’t rhyme with ‘God’ or anything like that – so I’m not sure this is going to happen)

Anyway…here goes:

Mrs. Moog’s 5 Commandments:



Commandment #1:

Thou shall stop forgetting sh*t you stupid, stupid man.

My wife can somehow remember what earrings, pants, shirt and type of eyeliner she wore on the 3rd of February in the year 1992.

I have no idea how she does it.

I, on the other hand, have already forgotten what I’ve just typed.


I’ve also forgotten every conversation that she and I have ever had…

…unless she put it on a sticky-note where I could reference it.

If it wasn’t for sticky notes, I’d probably be writing this right now without pants on.

I’m THAT stupid.


I’ve also forgotten our anniversary….

…and, more recently, her birthday.

(this was brought into stunning clarify last year by the carpenter working on my house…when I called him to see how the work was coming)

Me: “Hey, Len…how’s it going?”

Len: “Good. Hey..um…did you know it was Jen’s birthday today?”

*cricket*

No.

No I didn’t.

Me: “Oh….SH*T.”

Len: “She was betting us that you’d forget.”

Yep, I forgot.

Why?

NO F*CKING STICKY NOTE!

Let me tell you, guys…

…that was a bad, bad day in the history of me.

Sticky notes.

Word to the wise.



Commandment #2:

Though shall move things in the refrigerator when you’re looking for them.

An example:

Me: “Hey! Where’s the ketchup?”

Wife: “Um…did you look?”

Me: “Yeah. I looked.”

Wife: “Did you actually MOVE ANYTHING when you looked, or did you just look in?”

Um…

No.

I didn’t move anything.

I just looked in.

In an attempt to appease her, I slide the milk a 1/4 inch (2 kilometers for those on the “metric system”) to the right.

Ah…THERE it is.

Dammit.


Commandment #3:

Thou shall not touch my f*cking laundry

I’m not allowed to touch her laundry…or even think about ASKING to do it.

Because I shrink things.

Sometimes, the shrunken things also change color.

Yeah, it’s pretty…but it just makes the situation worse.

I get yelled at.

I don’t do this anymore.


Commandment #4:

Thou shall learn how to park

I can’t park.

It’s one of my faults.


When we go out, I either:

a) park crooked

b) park halfway out into the lane

c) park 3 miles away from the entrance to where we’re going, even though there were free spots 5 feet from the door

(this usually happens when it’s raining)

d) have to straighten myself using the “12-point” method, because I can’t steer her barge of a minvan


I’m a good driver.

But, yeah…

Not so much with the parking.

Commandment #5:

Thou shall clean up after yourself

Wife: “Did you make coffee?”

Me: “Yeah, why?”

Wife: “It looks like the Colorado Dam burst on the counter top. Seriously, you can’t see this?!”

(I look at her pointing at small pond on the countertop…now home to several species of indigenous fish)

This happens EVERY SINGLE TIME I make coffee.


I need to remind myself to clean up.

I should probably use sticky notes.

But…

…I’ve been staring in the drawer for an hour now…

…and I can’t seem to find the damn things.

Maybe I should move something out of the way in there.

Nah.

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