You Have to be a Good Team: Part Two of what could be more than a two part series in this blog depending on how many people like the blog…I do it for you, people.

Posted: August 19, 2012 in Pregnant Wife Stories
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You Have to be a Good Team:  Part Two of what could be more than a two part series in this blog depending on how many people like the blog…I do it for you, people.

I have rambled on for hours in this blog about relationships.  I am sure that it is this blog that has kept many a relationship from tanking, or at least four of you that have read this and applied the vast array of knowledge I am putting out there.  For instance, those of the populace that have read my blog know that a pregnant woman with night terrors will, in fact, be able to scale three dogs, climb a post of the bed and race into the bathroom all to save herself from the nightmarish entity floating in the corner of the room (an elliptical machine that comes to life in the darkness of night).  If you read my blogs and apply them to your life, you will be more sufficiently prepared to deal with your wife’s lack of a brain once conception occurs.  This is not an insult to ladies.  On the contrary, it is a reality for ladies and their husbands. 

Take earlier this week for example.  I was tearing the house apart looking for the remote controls that belong to the living room television and entertainment center.  Whitmaster 3K is sitting on the couch massaging her baby bump.  For some reason, the movers did not pack the remotes for living room stuff in the boxes labeled “living room stuff.”  This is where I used to rely on my woman.  Whitney was my “go to wife” for all matters of things that I either misplaced or lost in general.  She could remember that I put my keys in a flower pot on the porch just because she saw them there for a split second five days ago.  Do you get what I am saying here?  I never remembered anything, because I didn’t have to.  I just woke up in the morning and looked to her for guidance. 

So, Whitney looks to me and says, “Remember the mover lady said, ‘I put the remotes for your living room TV in………..,’” and then she abruptly stops, not even attempting to search for the conclusion to her statement.  That’s it.  That’s all she had.  What good does that do for me?  As a matter of fact, why even say that sentence?  It’s like when a friend says, “I have to tell you something,” and then immediately follows it up with, “Nevermind.”  No wait, it is even more like I was like a Pirate hunting for treasure with a map that didn’t have a big ass red “X” marked at the location of the treasure.  She bamboozled me, and then just kept on massaging her belly, which was the reason for her complete inability to help me locate what I needed most at that moment in my life. 

Take a couple days before that, and I want to make sure I relay to you that this one is partly my fault, but the majority of it rests on Whitney, because I am the one writing this blog, and that is the way it works.  When we first moved into the house, it was empty and seemed so big and scary, like scenes from American Horror Story.  I brought in the gun we had been using for “Trailer Protection.”  I looked to Whitney and said very clearly, “Whitney I am putting the gun……”  I write that without an ending, because I can’t remember how I ended the sentence.  In my defense, I have never been counted on to remember my sentence endings—Whitney did all this stuff.  Here we are a week later, and there is a handgun somewhere in this house…  I know that sounds reckless, but rest assured I will find the weapon and put it in a secure place as soon as I can complete that sentence.  I am a responsible gun owner when it counts—don’t judge, the blog isn’t about me, it’s about Whitney.

Back to the title of the blog, you have to be a good team.  Utilizing a teamwork strategy where I just look through every box for the remote and Whitney massages her growing baby bump, we, together as a team located the remote.  A better example is caged in the events of yesterday morning.  Whitney was buying me a special present—major league baseball tickets.  I was pumped, and I am not going to lie, I was sitting on my butt watching her do all the work.  While on hold, she said to me, “Heath, you need to call the plumber, so he can get here and fix the dishwasher.”  She then was taken off hold and continued dealing for the gift she wanted to give me.  Here is where it gets awesome.  I started acting like a teenager who was just told to go mow the lawn.  I pouted; I huffed and puffed; I silently threw a tantrum; I made angry eyes at Whitney aka, Ruiner of My Laziness.   

By the time she was off of the phone, I was done with the tortuous job of getting a plumber here to fix something I probably could have fixed if I was a man’s man.  She looked at me and said in a motivated voice, “See, that’s what I like about us, we are a good team; we get things done, although you act like a little bitch when doing it, we still get things done.”   She saw the offense I had taken with her statement and followed up with, “And, don’t get mad, I censored what I really wanted to say.”

She’s right we are a good team. 

I just wanted you to know, because I have been holding it in for a fortnight.

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Comments
  1. Baz says:

    I read this 3 times, the first time it was pretty funny. The next two times was still funny, although I was confused as I thought it was new.

  2. Leslie says:

    Oh the joys of TMO and their packing skills. For the record pieces of my sleep number bed were in a box marked garage with a computer monitor, neither of which belong in the garage. And Whitney cracks me up!!!

  3. Your wife called you a little bitch! Is it inappropriate that I laughed out loud at that exact line? You really should not be allowed to go traveling. I’ve missed this blog!

  4. […] His wife, nicknamed “The Whitness”, is so very mean and also so very […]

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