The Art of War

A war zone is no place for compassion. There’s no room for charity.

War is vicious.



My adversary is bigger. Stronger. Maybe even smarter.

But I’ve got something he doesn’t–ovaries and a lust for vengeance.

This bitch ain’t got nothing on me.

honeymoon smiles

My Nemesis, aka The Husband.

That’s right. My Dearly Beloved is sittin’ high atop my shit list.

He’s the breadwinner. His job: Investigate cases. Apprehend suspects. File charges. Testify under oath. Possibly shoot people (jealous!).

I’m the homemaker. My job: Love, nurture, discipline, guide, teach, cook, clean, launder, scrub, scoop, wash, chase away nightmares, kiss boo-boos, dispense sarcasm, write the crazy in my head, and sub on the side. All while wearing a Mary Poppins smile.

I. Fucking. Win.
So what is this tug o’ war about?

blue lunchbox

Do not adjust your screens. That is a lunch box.

I have a designated cupboard for these portable food coolers and expect them to reside in the proper place when not in use. This isn’t a new concept. It’s not hard. And yet, the love of my life can’t get. this. shit. done.

I find the blue devil on my table every day. And by every day, I mean every fucking day. Being a loving, supportive wife, I’ve helped him out by gently shoving his face in the cupboard with a whispered, “This is where it goes, bitch!”

And still it sits. Mocking. Sneering.

Bear says he can’t fiiiiiind it when it’s put away. And, too big for the cabinet, it gets bent all to hell when I “ram” it home.


What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t take his concerns and needs into consideration?

I am, if nothing else, a magnificent wife. Hence, the gift below.

pink lunchbox

Meet your new best friend. Bitch.

Congratulations! Your brand spankin’ new lunch box is an exact match to your nine year old daughter’s! Twinsies!

Now, I didn’t actually throw his away–I’m too frugal for all that. Can’t cut off my financial nose to spite my wallet!–and if he can find that damn thing, he’s welcome to use it.

Checkmate. Your move, Big Daddy.


14 thoughts on “The Art of War

  1. Ok this made my day, just so funny !!! I so sympathize with you, when my husband is home from sea he can’t seem to hang up his coats (there is a coat rack on the wall, easy to hang a coat on you would think) he usually has 3 to 5 laying around the house until I can’t take it anymore or we have company coming over and I hang them up. Arrrrggggggg. You go girl!

    • Ha! Glad you enjoyed, Gwen! Bear has started doing that,too! He dumps the lunch box on the table, slides his coat over the chair back and half his equipment ends up on the seat. We eat here, damn it! Ack! Why?! Whhhhhyy must they do this?!

  2. Did you REALLY ditch the blue beast and replace it with a pink lunchbox??? I was laughing out loud while reading this, and had to read it to my hubs. He, too, laughed. He is probably plotting ways to use your tactic against me, though. I am the pack-rat, unorganized clutterer in this house. My purse is always on the table, my shoes by the door, my jacket on the chair back…………
    I love your writing, Andris! Please keep it coming!
    Sara D.

  3. Oh my! I laughed so hard, I cried. Poor Bear. It’s pink! My husband would starve before carrying pink. But hey, I so understand and admire your strategy. I can’t seem to teach my husband to flush the toilet after he blows his nose and throws the tissues away. I guess he thinks only human waste needs to be flushed, but the toilet is not a freaking trash can! Flush those snotty tissues please.

    Any advice on how to handle this? lol!

    • Poor Bear? Poor BEAR?! Oh, it’s not just pink. It’s singe the hair off your balls, neon pink. I wanted him able to find that sucker in the dark!
      Eek! I don’t think you’re supposed to flush tissues, are you?! Aren’t they bad for the septic system? And why not just toss them in a can?! Why waste water flushing that?! Men!

  4. This is so freakin’ funny, Andris. I’m having a similar issue with my beloved, codename: GQ Jones, at this very moment. Our issue? Dude has taken to washing everything by hand in the bathroom sink. Except he throws it in the sink and lets it sit there for two days before he adds water and soap. Then another two days (at least) until I REMIND him to rinse and hang the stuff. I’ve made nasty signs and pasted them on the mirror. Removed the dry clothing and hidden it. Nothing seems to work. ARGH!

    • Reese, how do you not spank his ass when he does that?! I would go straight up and turn left! Baha! I love that you’ve hidden his clothes from him–a woman after my own heart! Bahahahah!

      • If we didn’t have double sinks I probably would have completely lost it and ended up on the news by now. LOL. Still, it’s freaking annoying and I’m tired of looking at it. [Rubs hands together fiendishly.] Me thinks it’s time to up my game.

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