A few of the joys of living with Mr. Brooks

(Preface: This post merely shares with others the conversations I have already had with him about each of these, and is not some sort of sneak attack of passive-aggressive behavior.)

1. This is a container of leftovers. Mr. Brooks has some sort of inability to actually empty a dish of its contents. My theory is because doing so would require him to either: (a) place the container in the dishwasher (see below) or (b) in the case of pitchers of beverages like iced tea, actually make or buy more to refill it. So you reach in, thinking there is a whole serving of food, but you are greeted with two tablespoons of leftovers. Or open a bag that contains only four potato chips. Or discover only a half-glass of iced tea dregs sloshing around at the bottom of a plastic two-gallon pitcher . “Some time I need to show you how to make tea in this,” I say as I drop tea bags in the coffee maker to brew a pot. “You already have,” he replies, “and it looks pretty easy.”  “Apparently not,” I say.

2. This is him cleaning up after eating. This sink is not even steps away from the dishwasher — seriously, from where I stand to wash the dishes, I can turn to the left and open the dishwasher without moving my feet. But instead of placing the items inside the dishwasher, he’ll run a little water — no soap or anything — and set them in the sink, where he’s “going to get to it later.” This is particularly gross when “it” is a dish with formerly runny/moist cat food that has dried, because then it reconstitutes and stinks up the kitchen. (Also, 3. Also, this is him eating the eggs I had bought and needed to make Eggs in Purgatory.)

4. This is a bag of cat poop. Every morning when he gets home from work, he scoops out the cat litter and places it in a plastic bag. Then, instead of taking it to the trash container outside, he drops the bag outside his door (“It smells”), where it remains for 12 hours, until he drops it into the garbage as he gets into his car to leave for work. At first I didn’t know what was in the bag, and then I thought it was the same bag just sitting there day after day (see: post-rain spot where bag had been). “How lazy do you think I am?” he asked when I told him that was gross. “Lazy enough to keep a bag of cat crap by your door, making everyone who walks by see (and, in the heat, smell it) instead of walking 20 steps to a trash container,” I replied. “Once you reach that level, anything else is not exactly stunning.”

5. This is the washer running. You’ll notice that there are 20 minutes left in the cycle, which means it’s about halfway done. Which means he started it while I was in the shower, getting ready for work. Like usual. Mr. Brooks’ bathroom does not share a water heater with the washing machine. Ours does. Speaking of bathrooms …

6. This is a roll of toilet paper. This is not a photo of the toilet paper from the bathroom that Tyra Sanchez and I share, however, because it was not available to photograph. Because Mr. Brooks steals it and neglects to mention this to us — even if it is the last roll, which has led to more than one rude discovery and expletive-laden rant.

THAT SAID: He is also one of the few people that I could live with and not be driven to homicide by the aforementioned habits. He fully owns up to each of these “quirks,” shall we say, and realizes that they’re not exactly charming. For a while after I bring them up, he’ll make an effort to change them. But expecting him to do that all the time would be folly — and a little unfair, since it’s his house, after all. And there are plenty of things I do that annoy him — I’m sure not the least of which would be blogging about him stealing toilet paper.

WHAT SAM WORE: 05-10-10

The shirt: Long-sleeved gingham button-down from J. Crew.
The pants: Boot-cut khakis from Gap.
The shoes: Sneakers by Diesel, from Last Chance.

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