By The Duchess, 5th January 2016

Men Have Selective Blindness

It's Right In Front of You!

It’s Right In Front of You!

Yes I know. It’s yet another article about the annoying stuff our husbands do. But I can’t help it. This is a major pet peeve of mine (and I have a few but this is by far the biggest) and I need to get it out. It’s like tourettes. If I keep this inside I feel like I may just explode. So here goes…


There. I feel just a little better now. But the fact of the matter is that no matter how many times I say it, or write it down… he never will. Because he is a man. And all men have selective blindness.

selective blindness

It seems there are two camps in my household. Me and my youngest daughter in one camp and my husband and eldest in the other. You see, I can not lose anything. It is impossible. I have an eidetic memory. I remember everything. (Not just those annoying conversations and arguments and every insult anyone ever gave me… but everything. I remember everything.)

I can walk into a restaurant and walk out precisely five minutes later and tell you what every person in the room was wearing, where they were sat, and in most cases even hazard a guess at the relationships between people and what they were talking about. At the beginning of our relationship I think my husband found it quite amusing and I always attributed it to a side effect of being brought up in a military household. My youngest daughter is the same. She has the most amazing memory.

We remember everything.

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This is not a good thing in this house. You see my husband and eldest take full advantage.

“Darling. Do you remember that piece of red plastic coated wire. It was about an inch long and I used it about 3 years ago in that house before we moved…”

Before he has even finished trying to explain to me why he needs it, I have it in my hand for him. I remember everything and know where everything in the house is.

The only problem is, he know this. And so does my eldest daughter. They both know.

“I can’t find my shoes.”
They are in the cupboard, where they always are. In the same place I made her put them last night and every night before she goes to sleep.
“What cupboard. I can’t see them.”

My blood boils. She does this for two reasons.
1: She is lazy. I love her to bits, but if that child could delegate everything except sleeping to everyone else, she would.
2: She watches her dad do exactly the same thing and lazy she may be, but stupid she is not. She watches and copies everything he does. They are the ‘cool kids’ and if dad does it, it’s because he is cool. So she does the same.

It bugs me.

A lot!

The fact of the matter is, I think my husband does it for the same reasons.
1: Because he is a lazy ass who thinks that if he does a job badly I will never ask him to do it again. (He honest to god took 4 hours to clean the kitchen once, deliberately so I would never asked him to do it again. He knows I can clean a whole house in that time!)
2: Because he is smart. He knows that if he asks me to find something, said object will be found ten times quicker than if he ‘attempted’ to look for it. So he doesn’t bother.

However. He seems to have taken things to the next level.

Husband: “Where are the bin bags?”
Disgruntled Wife: “Where they always are.”
Husband: “Where?”
Disgruntled Wife: “Under the sink.”
Husband: “Where? I can’t see them.”

Oh-My-Actual-God! “See if I have to come in there, and I open the door and I find them sat right in front of your eyes… I swear I will go mad.”

I stomp into the kitchen and open the cupboard under the sink. The bright purple bags, huge massive luminescent purple bin bags are the ONLY thing you can see… they practically fall at my feet.

“ARRRRGHHHHH – Are you SERIOUS!! Did you even open the fu**ing door!”

He just smiles at me sweetly.

“I swear I didn’t see them. Chill out will you. You know you are better at finding things than me.”

bath products

Right about there, around the time he decided to utter the words Chill Out is when I properly lost it.

“I got out of the bath. The hot, candlelit bath that I had been dreaming about all week. Almost cracked my head open running down the stairs with wet soapy feet, to open a door that you didn’t bother opening to find something that was right in front of your face… and you’re telling me to CHILL OUT!”

Anyone reading this now can assume that right about now is when I want to take the bin bag and tie it around his smug face. Instead I traipse back up the stairs to the now lukewarm bath and slip under the water… just before I hear the words…

“Muuuuuummmmmmmy…. I can’t find my reading book!”
‘It’s in your school bag,‘ I scream back through gritted teeth while clenching the side of the bath.
“Where is my school bag? I can’t find it.”

This is my life. All because HE can’t find his own backside! This is my life because he has taught her not to be able to see the nose on her own face.

I am resigned to finding shit for the rest of my life… Finding shit and lukewarm baths.

Oh the joys!

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