Marriage Illustrated with Crappy Pictures

  www.CrappyPictures.com

  Meet the Crappy Family

  Fighting Happens

  Husband versus Wife

  Household Responsibilities

  Interests & Entertainment

  Money

  Health & Hygiene

  Parenting

  Sex & Romance

  Hormones & Anxiety

  Meet the Crappy Family

  We are real people who are really married. All these stories are real and they are really about us.

  In these pages you will find some generalizations about men versus women and gender roles and other topics that tend to inspire people to ride high horses or climb on soapboxes or otherwise exert themselves too much. But relax, I’m just talking about us.

  Not you, not the rest of the world. I’m sure your marriage is perfect and different and modern. Congrats!

  I call my husband Crappy Husband only because I draw crappy pictures. It fit the theme.

  It would have been silly to call him Excellent Husband. Plus, that just sounds like bragging.

  We also have two kids, Crappy Boy and Crappy Baby. But I’ll get to them later.

  CHAPTER

  FIGHTING

  HAPPENS

  Although we are joined by marriage, Crappy Husband and I are still two separate people. We each have our own opinions, likes, dislikes and interests. This is highly inconvenient.

  A FIGHT A DAY

  We fight all the time. Almost every day. However, it is rarely about our relationship, our life choices or our deeply held personal beliefs. It is about something much more important.

  Especially when we are going to order in.

  Then sometimes after dinner we get to decide which movie to watch.

  We don’t go to bed angry. But sometimes we do go to bed without having watched a movie.

  TEMPERATURE

  We haven’t yet been able to calibrate our internal thermometers properly.

  I always tell him to take off more clothes. He especially appreciates this advice when he is already naked.

  Every once in a while he’ll let me thaw my hands under his shirt.

  But most of the time I have to sneak up on him. He calls it back rape. I call it cuddling.

  YOUR OPINION IS WRONG

  We mostly agree on music, except when we don’t.

  It couldn’t possibly be that my personal opinion differs from his.

  It must be that I’m somehow lacking in understanding.

  Of course, it goes both ways.

  And both of us are huge fans of “You haven’t given it a chance!” even when referring to things we’ve disagreed on for years.

  He also occasionally tries out, “You won’t admit that I’m right!” but that one just gets laughed at now.

  Can’t we just agree to disagree? Nah, that’s no fun.

  HOW I DON’T CUT PINEAPPLES

  I don’t like to cut pineapples, okay? I just don’t. They are big and messy and pokey.

  When we have a pineapple that needs to be cut I always bewitch Crappy Husband into doing it. (Notice how bewitch sounds so much sexier than manipulate.)

  First, I feign ignorance and helplessness.

  A damsel in distress! Will my brave knight come to slice the pineapple with a few swings of his sword?

  Nope, he just offers advice.

  So I start to chop up the pineapple by myself. Poorly.

  And my knight in shining armor finally arrives! To save the pineapple.

  It’s not like I’m the only one who uses this method, you know. He really does know how to operate the vacuum, but he somehow convinces me that I’m “just so much better at it” than he is.

  HOW HE GETS ME TO DO ALMOST ANYTHING

  We have a bunny garden. A bunny garden starts out as a regular garden but then the bunnies hijack it and eat everything.

  One day, I decide to build a fence.

  I’ll just use chicken wire and two-by-fours.

  He says “You can’t” on purpose. He knows this will guarantee that I’ll build a fence. This means he won’t have to.

  And I fall for it every time.

  CREDIT THE SOURCE, OR ARE YOU LISTENING?

  I don’t like having my content stolen.

  We are having a conversation and trying to figure something out.

  I suggest a theory, he suggests a theory. And so on . . .

  We continue going back and forth for several minutes.

  Then he announces:

  He says it all proudly. Just look at how smart he is. What he “just thought of” was exactly what I said five minutes ago.

  But he will not give me credit and admit that I had just said the same thing.

  This is the worst kind of theft. Or maybe he is just not listening.

  For example, he does something similar with news.

  I tell him something exciting and then several days later:

  Yep. Not listening.

  PET PEEVES

  While Crappy Husband has three pet peeves, I have only one. My pet peeve is that he has three pet peeves. Stupid ones.

  First, he thinks I should point the showerhead toward the wall before I get out so that it doesn’t spray him in the face when he turns the water on.

  I think he should just point the showerhead toward the wall before he turns the water on.

  Second, he thinks the small spoons need to be in a separate compartment from the big spoons.

  I think that the big and small spoons can get along.

  And third, he thinks I should splash water around after brushing my teeth so I don’t leave globs of toothpaste in the sink.

  I think he should remember that I’m the one who usually cleans the bathroom. The one who cleans it can dirty it. I’m sure this is written in our household bylaws somewhere.

  MARRIAGE IS SHARING

  Marriage is all about sharing.

  With one exception. Food.

  I’m not territorial over food in general. Just ice cream.

  He now knows that pints are a single serving.

  LISTEN, DON’T FIX

  I like to solve problems. I’ve never been a natural at listening to someone complain while nodding my head in empathy. I’d much prefer to brainstorm ways to fix the damn problem and then move on to eating brownies or something else worth doing. Crappy Husband feels the same way.

  However, I admit that sometimes I need to vent and just be listened to.

  When this happens, I have to make it very clear to Crappy Husband in order to avoid one of those classic “You’re not listening to me!” fights.

  Once I’m done, the brownie-eating can commence and everybody will be happy again.

  IT’S NEVER HIS FAULT

  Crappy Husband doesn’t like to admit fault. Even when something is so clearly his fault.

  For example, one night he drove to the market to pick up a few things.

  The next morning, I discover that the car battery is dead. The interior car light had been left on all night.

  Obviously, it wasn’t me. I hadn’t used the car at all the day before. He was the last one to drive the car when he went to the market after dinner.

  I come back inside and say that he left the car light on all night and now the battery is dead. I’m not mad or anything. I’m simply telling him because now we need to jump-start the
car.

  But he won’t admit it! He won’t admit making a mistake! Even though we both know that it was him! Instead he just plays dumb and says he doesn’t know who it was.

  Finally, I say:

  Fair enough. It clearly wasn’t him. My apologies.

  CHAPTER

  HUSBAND

  VERSUS

  WIFE

  Before I got married I always scoffed at traditional husband versus wife stereotypes. We’d never be like that. We were modern, intelligent and educated! We were equals! Equal doesn’t mean the same. And wow, are we different.

  It isn’t our fault. Let’s blame our ancestors instead. Early men hunted animals and now modern men enjoy stupid shit like sports. Early women were busy searching for berries and now modern women enjoy stupid shit like shopping at Target.

  Modern men can’t find anything in the refrigerator because their ancestors never lifted up branches to find ripe raspberries. Modern women can’t find their way back to their car in a parking structure because their ancestors never wandered through forests looking for wild boar.

  We can’t help it.

  RUNNING ERRANDS

  This is how I pick out dish soap:

  I smell them. I look at the ingredients. I compare prices. I contrast the color of the soap with the walls of our kitchen.

  And this is how he picks out dish soap:

  He texts me to ask what soap he should get.

  EMAIL COMMUNICATION

  This is an example of one of my emails to him:

  I can write pages about my feelings regarding our New Year’s Eve plans: what I think we should do and why; recalling plans of years past; pros and cons of potential plans, etc.

  And this is an example of one of his email replies:

  MAKING NEW FRIENDS

  When we go to a party together we have vastly different experiences and goals. He can make friends at parties. I can’t.

  This is how I make a friend:

  It takes years of conversations where we are essentially interviewing each other for the starring role of friend.

  We also must learn each other’s life histories.

  And this is how he makes a friend:

  He can do this in a matter of minutes. Or seconds, if beer is involved.

  VALUING EACH OTHER’S OPINIONS

  Sometimes I ask him his opinion on shoes or purses or something.

  He always gives the wrong answer.

  And sometimes he asks me my opinion on measurements or math or something.

  I always give the wrong answer too.

  FINDING THINGS

  This is how he looks for something:

  He stands there and calls for help. If he is really desperate, he might actually tilt his head to view the area from a different angle. But not usually.

  And this is how I look for something:

  I find it.

  SICKNESS

  This is how I act when I have a cold:

  Normal life only with more tissues.

  This is how he acts when he has a cold:

  He has the sniffles. The world must stop.

  THE LAUNDRY BASKET

  This is what I do with dirty clothes:

  I put them in the laundry basket.

  And this is what he does with dirty clothes:

  He throws them near the laundry basket. He says there is a force field around it.

  DRIVING

  This is what I do to prepare to drive somewhere new:

  I map the route on my laptop and phone and then write out the step-by-step directions just in case technology fails.

  And this is what he does to prepare to drive somewhere new:

  And somehow, he always does.

  EATING FOOD

  Late at night:

  I’m still plenty full from dinner.

  This is how he is:

  He can’t get enough. If he doesn’t fill up a cart of food, he’ll have to constantly pause the movie to get more snacks.

  CHAPTER

  HOUSEHOLD

  RESPONSIBILITIES

  Both of us suck at this.

  THE WRENCH

  Crappy Husband fixed the leaky sink. Yay! I thank him and all that good stuff.

  He leaves the wrench on the kitchen counter, so a couple of hours later I ask him where it goes so I can put it away.

  He says that he’ll deal with it in a bit. Fine.

  Two days later the wrench is still there.

  Again, I ask him where it goes. Notice I’m not bugging him to put it away. I’m even being courteous and trying to find out where he wants it. But again he says he’ll handle it. Fine.

  Two weeks later the wrench is still there. I’m quite certain that Crappy Husband cannot see it any longer. It blends into the tile like a chameleon.

  So I put it away.

  I don’t throw it away or do anything evil. I simply put it with his other tools in the garage.

  Two seconds later, he points at the counter in pure panic.

  He insists that he was just going to put it away.

  CLEANING THE HOUSE

  We are having friends over, which means we have to clean our house more than usual. Usual being not at all. So we agree to divide and conquer. This is what happens.

  Sigh. He was joking. Sort of.

  OUR CLEANING WEAKNESSES

  The thing is, Crappy Husband and I are equally pretty terrible at household cleaning. To make it worse, we are complete opposites in how we are terrible. He has no follow-through while I can’t stop once I start.

  He proudly announces that he did the laundry. It’s like he expects a medal or a massage or something.

  But I know how he does laundry.

  He doesn’t actually do laundry.

  He starts laundry.

  All he does is put clothes into the washing machine and then he walks away. Doing laundry is when you also put the clothes in the dryer, fold the clothes and then put them away.

  He is also good at starting the dishes. This is done by filling the sink with hot, soapy water and letting dishes float in it until the water turns cold and the suds disappear.

  And he excels at starting to take out the trash. This is done by removing the full bag of trash from the bin, tying a knot in the top and then placing it on the floor next to the bin, without putting in a new bag.

  His intentions are there. He just has no follow-through.

  Me, on the other hand, once I start something I can’t stop.

  Cleaning doesn’t make anything look clean. It just makes the rest of my house look dirty.

  If I upset the delicate balance of general untidiness, then I’ll see how really truly filthy my entire house is, and the angry cleaning beast will wake up. The angry cleaning beast will go on a swearing/cleaning rampage that lasts for several days until she finally collapses while wiping down bottles of cleaning products and bars of soap with a damp washcloth.

  I’m powerless against the beast once the metamorphosis happens. So it’s better to avoid cleaning as much as possible. Especially since it looks the same two days later either way.

  THE COCKROACH BATTLE

  I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth before bed.

  I’m startled by a large brown cockroach climbing up our shower curtain.

  Crappy Husband runs into the bathroom saying, “What is it?!”

  I expect him to walk over and pick it up with his hands and take it outside as he usually does with living crawlies. Bug removal is in his husband job description. But he just stands there staring at the cockroach.

  He backs out of the bathroom with his hands in the air as if he’s surrendering. His eyes are wide and fixed on the cockroach.

&
nbsp; You know how most people have random irrational fears? I have several. So far, he has only one. Cockroaches.

  We stand in the hallway and try to assign the job of cockroach soldier.

  I tell him to be brave, that I’ll be right there behind him in battle.

  He tells me that the cockroach always wins, so battle is suicide. Finally, we agree to do it together.

  I go to the kitchen to grab a broom while he rifles through closets. We meet back in the hallway. He looks ridiculous.

  He has on a knit hat, goggles and bright yellow kitchen gloves. He explains that his biggest fear is the cockroach touching his head. Or his skin.

  Our plan is that I’ll hit the cockroach with the broom and once it is dead, he’ll pick it up and flush it down the toilet.

  We take a deep breath and enter the bathroom.

  Boldly, I walk right up to the shower curtain, holding my broom like a baseball bat. Crappy Husband is standing behind me.

  I swing as hard as I can.

  But at the last moment, the cockroach moves and instead I just hit the curtain, sending the cockroach careening through the air over my head.