Thursday, April 16, 2009

My Name is Valerie, and I have a Problem

In our marriage, Mitch and I like to tell the other one how to do things, namely, "You should do it this way (read: my way) rather than your way."

As a result, we both often get that smug sense of being right when the other one just wouldn't listen. And sometimes we get that crappy feeling of knowing you should have just quit being stubborn and listened to your spouse.

Yesterday, I came home to Mitch throwing a raggedy brown ball for Einstein in the front yard. He was so pumped because Einstein was actually playing fetch, which is a rarity for our weirdoggy. Then I walked in the house and noticed bits of white plastic everywhere. The ragged ball was the inside of what used to be an intact golf ball. Mitch walked inside and explained that Einstein chewed it up while Mitch was in class earlier that day.

"We have a new agreement," Mitch declared. "He gets to stay out in the house when I'm gone as long as he behaves himself and doesn't poop." (I could devote days of material to how much my dog vindictively poops when he's mad at us for leaving him in the house when we do something fun.)

"It's working out really well for us," Mitch said confidently. I was feeling so nice, I ignored the fact that the dog destroying a golf ball wasn't even a blip on Mitch's radar as "bad behavior." What I couldn't ignore was the pile of poop I discovered in my husband's closet. Haha, a definite I-Told-You-So moment.

That smug superiority was completely lost today when I had to admit to myself that I have absolutely no self-control.

Exhibit A:
I'm so ashamed. (Mitch, you were right, I am addicted to Chipotle. There, I said it. That's Step 1, right?)

No comments: