I was moody last night.

I had a ton of things to do to get ready for Matt’s graduation weekend, his parents coming to visit, etcetera etcetera. The whole apartment needed cleaning, I needed to go grocery shopping, and as it was the fifteenth of the month it was tick and heartworm and flea medication day in our home.

I should have arrived home tickled pink to see Matt at the stove cooking up some linguini. Not so. There he was about to simply pour sauce on top of pasta instead of looking into the fridge and seeing those leftover stalks of asparagus and the shiitake mushrooms (hold on, I just saw a Google text ad for Genesis ringtones! NOW I WANT ONE!!!) that clearly should be eaten up and would taste delicious in an Alfredo sauce over that linguini. But no. He couldn’t have looked in the fridge to see what food needed to be used up, could he?

After our delicious dinner (because I stopped his sauce-pouring just in time to whip up aforementioned asparagus and mushroom alfredo sauce) I suggested we run out to Petsmart to get Berlin more food and some new toys and such. I thought this would make me cheery, but as I walked over to the travel-with-your-doggie section I saw all of these great shearling-covered seatbelts and was upset that when he had purchased a seatbelt for Berlin he got the cheapest, chintziest one in the whole store and it wasn’t SOFT and didn’t have SHEARLING and it probably wasn’t AS SAFE AS THESE OTHER ONES. GOSH!

But of course I didn’t mention ANY of this to him. Realizing how inane I was being, I kept quiet and sulked. And when he put his hand on my leg while we were driving, I pulled my leg away and said I just wasn’t in the mood to be touched.

We sat down in front of LOST, and I was preoccupied with watching Berlin as she played with her new Kong. Sometimes it would slip out from her paws and roll under the coffee table and Matt, couldn’t you please tear your eyes away from one of the best episodes of LOST EVER and reach down and get the Kong out from under the coffee table for YOUR DAUGHTER!? Because you’re taller than I am, plus I’m too comfy under this afghan. And when you clean the bathroom tomorrow can you PLEASE take it up a notch because I have higher standards for guest-worthy bathroom cleanliness than you do. And overall I just do everything better than you, SO JUST DO THINGS MY WAY.

There’s only one word for this type of behavior. BI-FREAKING-POLAR.

He’s a saint, he really is. And the thing that makes him so great is that from time to time when I need to absolutely NOT MAKE SENSE, he shrugs it off, gets a beer out of the fridge and goes to Lostpedia for a few hours. I love him.