Monumentally Memorable

Wilbur came in the door and flopped, with all of his crap, on the couch. After a moment, he noticed the new piece of furniture. It's a tea cart. Antique. Pretty cool. But I'm not sure where it should really go.

"What's that?" he asked - and rather peevishly.

I explained the situation.

"Is that where you're going to leave it?" he asked in that tone of voice that makes me want to squeeze all of the air out of his body and leave him crumpled on the floor.

"For now. I'm just not sure where to put it."

"Well it looks kind of... weird." Again in a rather snotty tone of voice.

Now, I don't disagree. It looks weird. It needs to find a home. The thing that makes this incident so particularly perturbing is that Wilbur, as his name might suggest, is something of pig. And what's funny about it is that this is the thing that offends his aesthetic sensibilities when his piles of shit cover surface after surface in our apartment. I'm pretty sure, that, left to his own resources, he could allow things to be left in random places FOREVER.

For example, last MAY, I gave him a decorative wood box that then sat in our dining area - on the floor no less - for about seven months. SEVEN MONTHS.

Now I know the question here is, why the fuck didn't I do anything about it. Well the answer to that is two-fold. First, I don't feel like it's accomplishing anything to point out the obvious by saying, "That box I gave you is still sitting on the floor." He's not blind. Second, I don't ever want to feel like I'm cleaning up after him.

When we first moved in together, I often felt that way and I was annoyed with him all the time. Now that I've decided to just leave it alone, things are much better. Hence, sometimes shit is lying around in messy little pig piles for months.

So with these conditions ever-present in our domicile, you can imagine why it's so hilarious that the temporary position of a tea cart irks him. Hilarious and puzzling.