Oct 14, 2009

Passive aggressive

This week I dusted off the old sewing machine and began working on a few projects. One is a hooded towel for a birthday boy, one is a top-secret Christmas gift, and the other is a curtain for me, or possibly for the devil, since I have started referring to it as Satan's Curtain.


The room that houses my sewing machine is kind of small, especially when random children (and their toys) pop in and out while I work. At one point yesterday I was feeling rather claustrophobic. I had to have more space! I eyed the stack of boxes against the wall and decided they had to go. So I picked them up and marched them out to the garage.
Thunk. With a bit more open space on the floor, I could breathe again.

Fast forward eight hours.

Garry came home from work (late). Once again, I was sitting in the little room with the sewing machine. I heard the garage door rumble upward, but didn't hear Garry's car pull in before the door closed again. Suddenly I remembered the boxes. They were blocking his parking spot.

We joked about it later, but Garry's first thought on seeing the boxes (and my first thought, when I realized what I had done) was that there might as well have been a sign hanging above them that read, "These are YOUR boxes with YOUR junk that YOU promised to sort last week. You can have your parking spot back when they are EMPTY or GONE!"

Haha. Love ya, honey. That wasn't the message I intended to send. I'm glad you are so good natured.

P.S. The boxes are still in the garage.
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