Wife's revenge on Wilson turns ugly

Sunday, April 16, 2006

SHE SAID: Three people live in my house.

Only one of us changes the toilet paper roll in the bathroom.

This week, I took my revenge.

Do you remember Wilson?

You were introduced a few weeks ago, so shame on you if you've forgotten him already (I only wish I could forget him). For the most part, Wilson lives in our bedroom, usually tucked in the crook of my husband's arm as he drifts off to sleep at night. But sometimes, Wilson multiplies, and I find him sitting on the kitchen table, or stuck in the crevice between two couch cushions.

So you'd think, after carrying all that Wilson around the house, Bob would have the ability to occasionally stick some on the empty roll in our tiny bathroom.

I mean, Bob obviously had this ability before I moved in. Just like he had the ability to keep up with his own car keys, mop the kitchen floor and buy some form of groceries.

Marriage, apparently, is like a lightning strike to a computer's hard drive. Stuff the machine was previously capable of just gets zapped.

Well, this week, stuff I was previously capable of also got zapped -- specifically, changing the toilet paper roll. To emphasize the seriousness of the situation, I hid all the rolls of Wilson in the house. And the TV remote control, just for fun.

Around 11 p.m. Sunday, Bob realized Wilson was MIA and rather quickly figured out my role (no pun intended) in the situation.

One of the first places he searched was the refrigerator. Like I'd hide it somewhere he visits so often. Then the oven, which was just weird.

He tore apart the linen closet. He snuck into stepson Drew's room, where the poor kid was sleeping soundly, and searched there. He looked in the bathroom cabinet. And then he got mad. I know this, because he turned on the Cardinals-Cubs baseball game and flipped the volume up really loud just to annoy me. Joke was on him though with that one (can we all say ... "sweeeeeppppp!")

I got up out of bed just in time to see him carting all the shampoo and soap out of the bathroom, apparently on his way to hide it from me.

I threatened to hide all of his underwear and reminded him who cooks his food.

Then I pointed out the rolls of toilet paper tucked beneath a towel in the linen closet, and I made him put a new roll in the bathroom.

And that is how we resolve issues in the Miller household.

HE SAID: It was the principle.

My wife yelled from the bathroom, demanding that I get out of bed and change the toilet paper roll like she was a nanny trying to teach a little boy a lesson.

"No," I said. I was not going to subject myself to these mind games.

"Fine," she said, and I heard the door close behind her. Not an angry slam, more of a purposeful close.

Well that was easy, I thought.

A little too easy.

She came back into the bedroom with a smirk on her face. I may be a man. I may be forgetful. I may be poor with power tools. But I'm not stupid.

And I quickly realized what she had done.

The last thing I wanted was to have some sort of emergency the next morning with no Wilson in sight. I got out of bed and, sure enough, the bar that usually holds the toilet paper was naked.

So I started my search.

When I couldn't find the toilet paper, I thought about collateral. So I clumsily gathered all my wife's hair products, hoping that I would be able to barter the next morning when she had no shampoo or conditioner..

But I did it so loudly, spilling bottles all over the floor (my gosh, how many hair products does one girl need?), that Callie heard what I was doing and caught me with the goods.

It worked. She'll tell you that she was annoyed with me. She'll tell you that she wanted to have mercy on me, knowing I'd have searched through the night. But I know the way to a woman's heart is through her toiletries.

I got the Wilson back. I won the battle.

Then I put a fresh roll in the bathroom.

I sure showed her.

cmiller@semissourian.com

335-6611, extension 128

bmiller@semissourian.com

335-6611, extension 122

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