And then yesterday actually happened.
Instead of writing a blog post about DH, I didn't get a chance to write a post at all. DH lost his cell phone.
A little background on DH and, well, anything of value or convenience: He loses things. He breaks things. Sometimes he breaks things while he loses them. Every car we've ever had, DH has crashed, totalled, bumped or broken. He once lost his keys in a snowdrift; we found them in the spring. Every time he takes off his wedding ring and sets it down, I find it and pocket it until he has a mild panic attack wondering where he put it.
Cell phones are a special kryptonite to DH. Every phone he's had, with the exception of the first, he has lost or broken, requiring a new one. And I'm convinced the only reason that didn't happen with the first phone was because it was the size of the dorm room he lived in.
(My favorite was when it fell out of his car a few winters ago, he didn't realize it, it got hit by a snowplow's blade and we found the battery. The rest of the phone showed up in the gutter after the snow melted.)
So over the weekend, when DH couldn't find his cell phone, I wasn't exactly sympathetic or amused. He accused Mini Me of hiding it, when, in-fact, I knew he was his own perp.
Yesterday morning, with him freaking out about it, he asked me if I would look for his phone while I was home. Only because he's leaving for a business trip today did I say yes.
The up-side to this was that my entire house got a deep cleaning. I found 11 pens, $2.34 in change, some missing socks, an earring back, some half-eaten string cheese (gross), and a few missing baby pictures. But no phone.
|DH has a mugshot at the Sprint store for being a cellular abuser.|
Because I needed a phone for him quicker (and cheaper) than what I could get through the cell phone insurance could provide (they make a lot of money on us), I took an old Blackberry of mine and switched it over. It took an hour to actually switch the number, plus a lot of time to set up his e-mail accounts, Facebook, and a few key phone numbers in his address book.
He got home at 5:30 and found his cell phone at 6. He handed it to me and asked if I could switch it back.
Oh, there were words not appropriate for children.
I handed him the old Blackberry, which was working with his phone number, and said I would later. I went to the grocery store for a few things (like liquor, at this point) and came home. I sat down with the computer and his phone, ready to switch things over.
I needed the old Blackberry to turn off so I could finish the switch. I asked DH for the Blackberry.
He couldn't find it.
"Are you f-ing kidding me?!"
I don't get paid enough for this sh...crap.
In his sheepishness-turned-frustration-turned-anger, he actually said to me, "You say you looked in here for my phone. So how come I found it? I told you I was sitting over there the last time I saw it."
(It was in-between where the two parts of our sectional connect, completely flush with the furniture, not on the floor. Which I did look in and feel for.)
He's lucky he came away from that statement with both testicles. And equally as lucky I wasn't armed.
He did find the Blackberry, eventually. And then the data plan wasn't working. Which, in the end, I had to sit on hold with Sprint and fix. Because he didn't "know how."
At what point to do I stop blaming his mother and start blaming myself?
He left this morning for his trip, with his phone. On his way out, he told me that he did laundry last night, and now the dryer wasn't working.