He also puts tomato sauce on grilled cheese sandwiches, which is the worst thing I've ever seen

Did you know that Scott and I not only live together as man and wife, we also both work from home? Home being a two-bedroom apartment? With no adjoining office or anything? It's amazing that I still find him adorable. I'm pretty sure he likes me, too, but I don't want to put words in his mouth.

We handle this mostly very well, because Scott's work requires him to hole up in the bedroom with a pair of headphones, so I can pretty much pretend I'm alone.

Except that I'm not, and sometimes I want to visit with him and chat. And he is LOST TO ME. Lost to his work. I have been known to take my top off and dance around. This always gets his attention. On the day that it no longer does, I will hang up my tassels.

Scott, on the other hand, is always at his most social right after he's dropped off Henry at school, which is the time of day I prefer quiet focus and not, say, someone comically belting Blood, Sweat and Tears at me, or loudly exclaiming over NPR.

Scott's main beef (ha, I said "main beef") with me is that I leave a trail of detritus and flotsam wherever I go. This is especially a problem while I'm working, and I can't deny it. I am as baffled as he is. In the course of making myself a nice lunch plate, I will scatter wrappings and baglets all over the counter, open (and leave open) every drawer and cabinet, and somehow coat the floor with ground pepper. I don't realize this because I have turned away from the mess and therefore it no longer exists.

Then while I'm in the next room reading Twitter and making num-num noises over my food, Scott will enter the kitchen to make HIS lunch and get all huffy I-am-a-better-person-than-you as he picks things up and closes things and whatever. And I'm all "JUST LEAVE IT," not because I know what kind of mess I made but because I have learned to recognize the tenor of his complaints and assume they are mess-related.

Don't tell Scott this but yesterday he was working at an office, so I was home alone, and I became annoyed with MYSELF over the messes I was leaving. It was like a poltergeist had gotten loose. I mean, who forgets to close a cabinet? Honestly. By the time Henry came home the sight of the kitchen was making me cry, and I thought I had cleaned up some of it. I could be wrong about that. So I think Scott actually cleans up after me almost as much as he makes all those mouth sounds? It's possible, is all I'm saying.

On the other hand he spends far too much time in the bathroom, so I say we're even. (We're probably not even.)