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'Til Murder Do Us Part

It is a constant source of amazement to me that men (in general), and my husband (in particular), believe in fairies ... 

Oh, don't get me wrong - if you ever ASK a man if he believes in fairies, he will look at you as if you have suddenly sprouted disgustingly long nostril hairs and will adamantly refuse any belief in or knowledge of these creatures... But, as Dr Phil often says ... your actions speak louder than your words... and my husband's actions tell me that he does, indeed, believe in fairies. House fairies, in particular... 

Take, for example, the bath mat. My husband (who is always up and running at sparrow fart each day), is the first to take a shower - and therefore use the shower mat - each morning. And each morning, when I wander through for a nice relaxing shower, I am faced with a wet, soggy bath mat, which has been left lying on the floor in a puddle of water for over an hour. 

Now, any normal person would think that Stephen would be in a state of perpetual amazement that a drenched squelchy bath mat that had been left on the floor that morning had magically and mysteriously appeared back on the towel rail later that day ... and yet, the thought has never crossed his mind. You see, he attributes this miraculous occurrence to the fairies. 

It seems that the fairies are also there to run after him and close his cupboard doors - which are ALWAYS left open. And, despite my constant yelling of: "Who was born in a barn?" and Stephen's reply of: "Jesus!" - the bloody cupboard doors remain wide open! 

But the BIGGEST task Stephen has entrusted to these most wonderful fairies - is the regular changing of the toilet roll. Which, for some unknown reason, my husband has yet to do in twelve years of marriage. 

At first, it never seemed a problem. I would sternly tell myself that Stephen does MORE than his fair share around the house, and that it is a small sacrifice on my part to quietly and calmly take 30 seconds out of my day to change a roll of loo paper. 

But then, I became fascinated. What do men do when they live on their own? Do they drip-dry? Because it is quite obvious that they never actually CHANGE the roll! 

And so, in the interests of women everywhere, I conducted a little experiment. I carefully unrolled what was left of our Twinsaver Triple Ply toilet paper in the main bathroom, and left exactly SIX squares behind... 

And I waited... 

The next morning, to my TOTAL surprise - there was only ONE square left (I had been using my secret "stash" in the bathroom cupboard.) 

HUMPH. There was no way I could challenge Stephen on an empty loo roll when there was still one square left. 

And so I waited. 

The NEXT morning, there was STILL only one square attached to roll, but the tissues NEXT to the toilet had mysteriously been depleted. 

And so it went on. For FOUR DAYS! 

"Just CHANGE the bloody roll!" I finally screamed at Stephen who nearly swallowed his electric toothbrush in fright... 

"HUH? Wha you kalking agout?" he mouthed through a mouthful of toothpaste. 

"The TOILET PAPER!" I hissed. "Why can't you just change the bloody roll when you are finished with it?" 

"But I DO!!!" he squealed indignantly. "I often change the toilet roll!" 

"When?!" I demanded, hands on my hips. "Name ONCE!" 

"Often!" he replied, beginning to look a little hurt. "What on earth is wrong with you?" 

"Nothing!" I sighed - finally beginning to realize that I was fighting a losing battle - one that women everywhere are doomed to fight. 

Because the problem is that men actually BELIEVE that they change the toilet roll, despite documented evidence to the contrary. In fact, I hear that Carte Blanche is planning an exposé of men world-wide when it comes to this exact topic. 

And so, despite the fact that my man adamantly attests that he DOES indeed hang up the bath mat when he has finished, that he ALWAYS closes his cupboard door, and that he OFTEN changes the loo roll .... I am left with the knowledge that the fairies will end up performing these tasks for the rest of our married life ... and they had better get used to it! 

But then, I began thinking .... If Stephen has all these little quirks that drive me to drink a bottle of Jack Daniels on a regular basis... what little habits do I have that drive HIM mad? 

And so I asked him. 

"Is there anything I do that drives you insane?" I asked him quite sweetly as we were getting into bed later that night ... 

"What, like always leaving the bathroom tap running, using my razor to shave your legs, stealing the duvet, kicking me in your sleep, dipping your rusks into MY coffee so that yours doesn't have little bits floating in it ..... stuff like that?" he asked. 

I was stunned. Stephen had never mentioned ANY of this before (other than briefly mentioning that he was vaguely concerned that I had slept for half the previous night with my arm straight up in the air as if I was Heiling Hitler)... 

"Yes," I whispered, taken aback that I had unknowingly been irritating my husband for the past few years. "Anything else?" 

"Absolutely nothing!" Stephen smiled, taking me into his arms. "You are just perfect the way you are!" 

"Exactly!" I beamed as I snuggled closer to him and rested my head on his shoulder. "You are so lucky to have me!" 

"I am!" he attested firmly as he kissed me on the forehead. "Even if you do give away all my clothes to the beggars that come to the gate! ...And throw away my Men's Health magazine before I have even read it ... And refuse to drink the milk after it has reached its sell-by date .... And forget to turn the sprinkler off at night ... And wear socks to bed in the middle of summer .... And refuse to leave the toaster on the kitchen counter because it is ugly ... And refuse to eat any fish that has not come out of an I & J box .... And ...." 

I sighed as I slowly rolled over and buried my face into my pillow. So much for being perfect! 

But as I slowly drifted off to sleep that night - having carefully tucked my arm underneath me - I had to think that married life just gets better and better. And despite the fact that my husband believes in fairies, and the fact that his wife drives him up the wall on a regular basis, we can still go out to dinner and look at each other as if we are the luckiest people in the world. 

And I'm beginning to think we are .... 

(Now if I could only get Stephen to change the bloody toilet roll!)


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