Slam that door again and the antlers are coming for you
by Andrea Mulder-Slater
I need to murder my husband.
I do. It's getting out of control, and by "it" I mean his nighttime bathroom door slamming habit.
It's the little things.
He's always been a door slammer. I knew it when I married him but I suppose, like most idealistic wives, I ignored the problem and hoped that it would just go away.
It didn't.
During the day, I really couldn't care less if a door is slammed. So long as no fingers, heads or other body parts are in involved. But at night - at night - silence is sacred and anyone who does anything to disturb it, is on my list.
Me (Cautiously, to my partner as he heads for the bathroom at 2am): Hun? Please don't slam the door.
Husband: I DON'T SLAM THE DOOR!
Me: Um, yes you do. And it wakes everyone up. So, please?
Husband: HUFMDSHSFDFUFDSH
Step, step, step...
SLAM!
I'm not sure what it is exactly that makes him think he needs to slam and lock the bathroom door with such gusto. He and I are the only ones using it and I almost never barge in on him (anymore). And at night, everyone else in the house is asleep. At least they were sleeping, before he SLAMMED the door!
Step, step, step...
Me: You slammed the door.
Husband: I DID NOT!
Me: Um, yes you did.
Husband: SHUMFSUBSOSDUDGIDS
Maybe when he was a kid, his family members messed him up more than I know. Maybe they ambushed him on a regular basis - waiting in silence - for him to enter the bathroom so they could throw the door open and tickle him or sing "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow".
That must be it. There's no other explanation for his obsession with privacy in the crapper.
This is why he must die. Or, at the very least, he needs to be jolted from his slumber by something equally as annoying as a slamming door. I think I'll get one of those hats from Montana's, wait until he's in a deep sleep, put the antlers on my head and go Mariah Carey on his ass while belting out the Happy Birthday song.
I think even he'd agree that this is better than my original plan.
Thank you Montana's. Thank you for saving a life.
No, really.
I need to murder my husband.
I do. It's getting out of control, and by "it" I mean his nighttime bathroom door slamming habit.
It's the little things.
He's always been a door slammer. I knew it when I married him but I suppose, like most idealistic wives, I ignored the problem and hoped that it would just go away.
It didn't.
During the day, I really couldn't care less if a door is slammed. So long as no fingers, heads or other body parts are in involved. But at night - at night - silence is sacred and anyone who does anything to disturb it, is on my list.
Me (Cautiously, to my partner as he heads for the bathroom at 2am): Hun? Please don't slam the door.
Husband: I DON'T SLAM THE DOOR!
Me: Um, yes you do. And it wakes everyone up. So, please?
Husband: HUFMDSHSFDFUFDSH
Step, step, step...
SLAM!
I'm not sure what it is exactly that makes him think he needs to slam and lock the bathroom door with such gusto. He and I are the only ones using it and I almost never barge in on him (anymore). And at night, everyone else in the house is asleep. At least they were sleeping, before he SLAMMED the door!
Step, step, step...
Me: You slammed the door.
Husband: I DID NOT!
Me: Um, yes you did.
Husband: SHUMFSUBSOSDUDGIDS
Maybe when he was a kid, his family members messed him up more than I know. Maybe they ambushed him on a regular basis - waiting in silence - for him to enter the bathroom so they could throw the door open and tickle him or sing "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow".
That must be it. There's no other explanation for his obsession with privacy in the crapper.
This is why he must die. Or, at the very least, he needs to be jolted from his slumber by something equally as annoying as a slamming door. I think I'll get one of those hats from Montana's, wait until he's in a deep sleep, put the antlers on my head and go Mariah Carey on his ass while belting out the Happy Birthday song.
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Thank you Montana's. Thank you for saving a life.
No, really.