He Leaves Belts Places

John and I do not argue in a healthy way. Which is probably my fault. He accuses me of taking a jujitsu approach when receiving criticism. If John, for instance, implies that the house is messy or that I should put my keys away so I can find them the next day, I retort with something like “YOU LEAVE BELTS PLACES!!!” Because he does. He never puts his belts away. He comes home, takes off his stupid belt, and leaves it in a place that is not his closet.

It is hard to keep a clean house when your husband leaves belts places. Also socks, shoes, and other work-attire accoutrements.

Last evening, we enjoyed a raucous night out with my sister Mary and her husband, whom I will refer to as Nate, because that is his name. We went off to a really wonderful Mediterranean restaurant in the city, Eros, which is behind and to the left of the Little Theatre. Not 2 Vine. Go beyond 2 Vine.

Lest this turns into a restaurant review site, I will just say the following: if you happen to have the chance to go out with friends or your significant other and you choose The Olive Garden instead of Eros or Scotland Yard or DaVinci’s, I think you are making a colossal mistake. I guarantee that the food is better, the service more personable, the atmosphere distinctive, and the wait nonexistent at Eros. And the price is comparable.

The Olive Garden is prosaic.

I ordered a cucumber melon soup followed by an entrée of Mousaka with sautéed vegetables, which I ordered simply because I got the opportunity to say Mousaka out loud. Mousaka. What a great word! The soup was refreshing. Mary tried it and agreed it was refreshing.

John ordered a bottle of red wine which he and Nathan enjoyed. This is one of those restaurants where the waiter presents the wine, pours a little bit so you can swirl it and sniff it, and then waits while you taste and approve it. If you are knowledgeable about wine, you can make informative and arrogant sounding comments about the bouquet, and about whether the wine is fruity or dry or whatever. This is what my husband said when presented with the bottle:

“Look! There are monkeys on the label!” I can’t take him anywhere. And he leaves belts places.

(I don’t drink; I am still a recovering alcoholic.)

After eating, John wanted to show Nate and Mary his office at The Firm. I should now mention that my dad also works at The Firm, though in a different department than John. I should probably also mention that on our way to The Firm, I suggested we go up to my dad’s office and “do something to it.” I was vague on the what. I had this idea that since we were all hankering for dessert, we might eat all of his M&Ms, which he keeps in a container at his desk. But when we got there, there were no M&Ms, so we vandalized the place instead. By vandalize I mean we flipped some pictures upside down. By “we” I mean John and Nathan, who worked while I wrung my hands and fretted about the consequences of such an action. Mary sat grimly and supervised.

I’m not sure that this is going to go over well this morning. I expect a phone call at any time. I might add that my dad and stepmom were watching my kids while we were doing this, so the guilt is somewhat compounded. 

I'm admitting all of this first thing because I have a very hard time keeping secrets.  Not important secrets.  Let's just say I would make a very bad poker player.  Big, personal, secrets?  I'm like Al Gore's locked box.  Your secrets are very safe with me.  And with my twelve closest friends.

John, who is by nature a loquacious being, becomes even more long-winded after a couple of glasses of wine. He has a tendency to give whole seminars on subjects of interest to him: a lengthy history lesson on the Smiley Face murders, perhaps, or a philosophical diatribe against people who don’t take responsibility for their actions.

Last evening, we were all set to watch at episode of Arrested Development before Mary and Nathan disappeared into the fog (because this is what we do), when we were awarded a long, impassioned speech from John.

Which may have led to an argument between me and John. Which I think I won, because we did end up watching some Bluth family hilarity.

So last night, I crawled into bed, feeling a little contrite, when I saw a long, fat belt, sprawled out on my side of the bed like a python. John lay there, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Unjust retribution!!!

I then I found a long, skinny belt, coiled beneath my pillow like a black mamba.

He leaves belts places. And it drives me nuts.