Harry and I bought our first house right before we got married. It was three stories, had lots of white walls, carpets and cabinets and it was ours! Wasn't too long, however, that we realized we had no frickin' clue how to run a house. We had a yard with no lawn mower and a big bed with no sheets.
Eventually, though, we figured things out through guessing and sheer dumb luck. And more than a few tubs of spackle (not on the bed or on the lawn - but ya know - for when we painted and - uh stuff. Oh, never mind!).
So you can only imagine my surprise when one day, about a year or two after we moved in, I noticed that the air conditioner was only mildly blowing from the vents. I adjusted the temperature and the fan settings. Nada.
Mustering up my pluck, I picked up my phone and called Robert, my ex-boyfriend who could probably take apart an AC unit and reassemble it blindfolded like one of those Rubick's Cube geniuses.
"Robert! My air isn't working! Well, it's cold - but it's barely blowing!"
After his initial sniggering came to an end he said thoughtfully: "Hmm... Well, when was the last time you changed your filter?"
I stopped with one hand still held over the vent. "Filter?" I repeated. "If I were this 'filter' thing - where would I be located?"
"Holly!" he yelled into the phone.
"What?! I grew up in a house where central air meant opening two windows on either side of room. When we got fancy we'd stick a fan in the middle!"
"Go change your filter."
"But I don't wanna go outside!"
"Holly. Listen carefully. Go downstairs, look for a small door. Find your air conditioning unit. Pull the handle and pull out the filter. Put in a new one." His sarcasm was not well hidden.
So I did what he said. I went downstairs, squealed at the single dead bug that had keeled over in the middle of the closet and made him stay on the line as I huffed and hemmed and hawed and further cemented his belief that our breaking up was one of the best things that had ever happened in his new (much more bland) life.
That being said, I have been diligent-esque about changing the filter. So when Harry and I went to the evil Home Depot the other night and came home with two new allergen-reducing overpriced filter I told him to put them at the top of the stairs. Putting things at the top or bottom of the stairs is code for "take me with you" when anyone traverses said stairs. He picked them up and left the kitchen.
I followed two minutes later and noticed the filters leaning against the doors to the basement. But where was Harry? He wasn't in the bedroom and he wasn't in the tv room - so where was he?
"Harry? Harry?!" I called.
"Yeah?" he answered - from downstairs!
"WHAT THE HELL?!" I yelled as he busted out laughing and sheepishly peeked around the corner of the stairs. "WHY WOULD YOU GO DOWNSTAIRS AND NOT TAKE THE FILTERS WITH YOU?!"
He was red-faced and bouncing off the furniture now as he continued to laugh at my outrage over his lack of carrying the filters to the lower floor.
"Oh that's too funny!" he said as he continued into the bedroom and into the bed.
"You put them at the TOP of the stairs but you didn't take them with you downstairs?" I was flabbergasted.
"Yup," he said, putting one farmer's tanned arm behind his head and leaning back on the headboard. "I left them at the top so that I'd remember to change it tomorrow."
His logic was so flawed and infuriating all I could do was stare. And then laugh.
After five years of marriage he still makes me laugh. And want to kill him. All at the same time.
Aint love grand?!
And - because I have to keep up the front of me being the biggest geek ya'all know - I bring you the link to a new Joss Whedon project : Dr. Horrible's Sing-along Blog!
Teaser from Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog on Vimeo.