All I Ask of You

9 Feb

I’m beginning to realize how difficult it must be to be committed to me. Besides my random and extreme mood swings, I expect Andrew to be an expert in a variety of fields and a problem solver on any given day. A sample of the questions (I’m hoping others have asked them too) I fire at him include:

How many more miles can I drive after my gas tank dings at me? Can I make it home? Are you sure?

Why did he do that? Who is that guy? Or other questions about movies and tv shows that we are both watching for the first time. His response is usually along the lines of, “Started watching this the same time you did.”

How big is the wall by the closet door in our hall downstairs? In inches?

What do you feel like eating for dinner tonight/this week? (This is often a bigger issue than it seems. I just can never decide and he doesn’t care what we eat.)

What’s Joey barking at?

What tax bracket are we in? Should we refinance? What’s our credit rating? What’s that mean? Can I buy a new table for the living room?

Are my tires low on air?

The toilet is doing that running while not being flushed thing. (Not really a question but it is implied he is being asked to do something.)

What was that noise?! Did you hear it? No? Can you check it out? (Usually asked once he is settled in bed ready for his slumber.)

Do you think Nate has a concussion? (Because suddenly Andrew is a doctor or nurse.)

Can you please pick up my birth control pills for me? (On the flip-side of that…) Can you pretty please pick up some tampons for me? Pleeeeaaaase?

What wine/beer do I like?

Who was the president before Lincoln? What is the capital of Alabama? How many senators are there in each state? How do you get the area of something? Will that stool hold you? Are you sure?

I think out of all the questions, me not taking his advice or the “are you sure ones” drive him the most bonkers. He especially loves when his sure-ness is justified. He brings me proof, “See? Here are the Christmas floor mats I told you would be in the tree box.” Me: “Where were they?” Andrew: “The. Tree. Box.”

Ok, ok, already.

Are you going to put them there again?

One Response to “All I Ask of You”

  1. Anna Marie February 10, 2012 at 6:18 am #

    You are so like my mother sometimes it is frightening :).

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