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This is a question Annoying Partners

As a recent divorcee, it would be churlish to reveal what annoys me the most about my ex, apart from that unfortunate business with the crinkle-cut beetroot which tipped us over the edge. So, what winds you up about your significant other? If you have no partner, tell us about workmates. If you have no workmates, improvise with an annoying tramp

(, Thu 4 Aug 2011, 14:47)
Pages: Popular, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Nearly entirely irrelevant poo story
Apologies for near-offtopicness, but it's a good 'un and I thought I ought to share the lurid details before they got lost in the mists of time. I suppose this - to a large extent - qualifies me as an annoying partner, given that I was sharing a hotel room with my wife at the time.

So, we had just completed a delightful week away on the Isles Of Scilly, and rounded off our time with a couple of nights in Falmouth rather than attempt the slog up the M5 at 8pm of an evening. Having gorged on fresh-out-the-sea-that-day fish all week, I was getting cravings for something hot and spicy, so I booked us tables at the Gurkha curry house on the second night.

At the Gurkha, I ordered a Piro-Piro chicken and a chilli paneer. Both came with lumps of fresh green chilli, a fruit which I love the taste of, and one which my digestive system treats with relative equanimity. The Piro-Piro chicken came with an extra treat, a mid-sized roasted chilli on top - about 4 inches long, and a brownish-purple in colour. Having no fear in these matters, I popped it in my mouth, chewed it a couple of times and swallowed it down. I expect you're all waiting for me to get a shock? No, not really. It was smoky, liquoricy, not too hot, and altogether a satisfactory chilli experience. The curries were delicious; I swilled them down with a couple of pints of Doom Bar, and we retreated to our excellent B&B (the Poltair guest house, whom I must namedrop because they gave us a free upgrade to their nicest room). An hour of telly and early night. Job done.

Wave 1 - Rattle your sabres, boys! 2:05am. Having dropped off and had a somewhat disturbing dream about Dara O'Briain and Dustin Hoffman as Captain Hook, I was awakened by my stomach making a 'you know what? You'd be more comfortable on the toilet.' sort of gesture. Having been told off already this week for farting in bed, I retreated to the en-suite, possibly expecting a mild ring-of-fire incident as retribution for enjoying a spicy curry. Instead, I experienced one of those 'Just A Fart' disappointments. But this just wasn't any old big fart, oh no. What started life with the tone and timbre of a 50cc idling motorcycle quickly accelerated in volume, acquiring the accompaniment of a whining like a dozen banshees and the counterpoint of a Lancaster bomber passing overhead. The water bubbled in the toilet bowl, the extractor fan switched itself off, and in the harbour, a container ship sounded its foghorn in bemused reply.

"Cap'n! That foghorn is not marked on our charts!"
"No worries, Number One. It's just a man having a difficult dump in Emslie Road"
"Well, let's at least show him some solidarity"


Suspecting this was the main movement, rather than the overture, I sat with a steely grimace for a couple of minutes and then tottered back to bed.

Wave 2 - A warning shot across the bows. 2:15am. Barely five minutes after convincing myself that nothing else was on the way, my stomach made warning noises again. This time, it was less 'you might be more comfortable on the bog' than 'you will seriously bloody regret not moving me into the lavvy right now sonny'. Gritting my teeth at these unbidden messages from my bowel, I dropped the boxers again and made contact with the cool porcelain. I wasn't going to settle for another JAFfa, although initial signs weren't promising as an emanation with the sound and volume of a small wind machine emanated from my bottom. I was pretty sure that the curry was wanting to effect its exit by now, so I grimaced and pushed hard, crinkling my forehead and pulling the face that Compo used to do when he saw Nora Batty's tights. The reward for my efforts was a single passing - a lump the size and density of a lead ball-bearing, which rolled mockingly around the bottom of the bowl. Still, the pains had passed. Maybe it was really only a bad bout of wind?

Wave 3 - The first cavalry charge. 3:45am. If you could have drawn a map of my internal organs on my ample belly that night, I'm sure I would have been able to trace this curry's passage to the nearest centimetre. Every time, the gut wrench shifted ever so slightly, and this time, there was no mistaking that something really wanted to move on.

Sweaty-foreheaded, I hoisted the toilet lid once more. The damn thing was starting to look like that rock that the Greek chap had to roll up the hill. I was resigned to another windy moment, and - such was the volume - wondering how I could fill gas cylinders with some sort of anal attachment, and flog the results to BOC. This time, though, there were additional vocalisations:

I said: "Oh, ooh, God, God, God". I'm not normally so devout.

My arse said: "Spluph, sploo, splsh, splsh, brrrrrrsplsh, splsh, splut, splsh, splsh, sppprrrllllllll, slsh, slsh, spluph, SPLUPH, SPLUPH". I sat there and recorded the exact spelling for posterity. The feeling was awesome. The smell was also awesome, but in a very different way. It was like being locked in a room with Piers Morgan's compost heap.

This would probably be the end of it, I thought. I can normally dispose of a curry in one sitting. I was taken by the size and shape of the chunks (number 6 on the famous Bristol Stool Chart, if you're wondering) and how similarly they resembled the bits of chicken and paneer I had not long ago masticated upon. Odd, really, given that I'm sure they were properly cooked, and I often eat a lot of Indian spices without complaint.

Wave 4 - The second cavalry charge. 6:00am. I've always been struck* by my novel dumps in the past (the piano leg that was like trying to flush a rolling pin; the one that somehow effected a perfect 90-degree right-angle halfway through extrusion; and most of all, the two perfect spheroids that bobbed in the toilet bowl, bouncing off each other like a little fecal Newton's Cradle), and this one was a new experience. It was EXACTLY THE SAME as the previous one. Same achings, same noises (I won't replicate them), same producedure, same Number 6 lumps**, same wiping procedure (only four sheets - surprisingly few...). As I was convalescing, I coined the term 'deja poo', which resulted in me having to explain to the wife why I was sitting in the bathroom sniggering like Muttley on Prozac at six in the morning. I was really hoping this was over, now, because I had a five-hour drive up the M5 the next day...

* Please note, when I say 'struck', I don't literally mean 'hit on the head'. That would be weird.

** This is not a 'Prisoner' reference. Although it would be cool if it was.


Wave 5 - Heroic procession into Berlin. 8:40am. No! No! Not more, surely? I hadn't eaten this much; there can't have been this much left in my intestines.

I was nursing a cup of tea, having sent the wife downstairs for her full-English and unsurprisingly not feeling much like one myself. The first cuppa of the day is often a good bowel-opener, though, and I found myself with the old familiar rumble down below. It was worryingly like deja poo all over again.

This one was different, though. A couple of preliminary lumps left my sphincter feeling like someone had taken an electric sander to it. As I sat there, wondering if this is how Alan Carr feels every morning, my colon spoke to me one last time.

It squeaked (yes, SQUEAKED. Like a mouse, or an Ewok. Never a noise that you want your anal region to make), paused agonisingly, and blew out a short but incredibly loud trumpet that could have melted cheese at a dozen paces. There followed a prolonged sensation which at the time I likened to trying to give birth to Edward Scissorhands. My ring was being scissored open by razor wire and dipped in sulphuric acid. I cried a little bit. And, then...blissful, glorious emptiness. My guts relaxed more than Roger Moore's acting technique. They were finally empty and at peace once more.

Turning round and routinely inspecting the bowl resulted in a sight which I will take every precaution not to see again. There, bobbing in the sea of foulness, and - I swear - grinning back at me, was a 4-inch long, brownish-purple, barely chewed chilli pepper, every bit as intact and recognisable as it was atop my Piro-Piro chicken 12 hours before. It didn't take much conclusion to work out that it was responsible not only for the razor-edged ring torture, but for precipitating the relentless charge through my digestive system that the rest of my dinner had had to endure.

I felt alright after that.

But, please take my advice, if you have a curry in Falmouth, don't eat the chilli.
(, Sat 6 Aug 2011, 22:42, 8 replies)
If your partner is a bit on the wobbly side ...
... never, ever, ever wedge your arse up to one of her buttocks while she's sleeping and use it as a resonator for a good, juicy, ripping fart. The sound is deeply rewarding but you'll find just how quickly someone can go from "peacefully sleeping" to "dementedly homicidal". And it's bloody difficult to dodge when you're laughing as much as I was.
(, Thu 4 Aug 2011, 15:47, 8 replies)
My love is honestly without fault.
She's sexy - I could watch her for hours, and frequently do
She's practical - she can do things many women can't. Change locks, for example.
She's rich - she can afford a new phone every few weeks, it's difficult to keep track of her phone number to be honest.
She's adventurous - she walks a different way to work and home every evening
She's independent - she pretend's that she doesn't need me around all the time.
She's funny - she got the police to tell me to keep away as a joke.
She's perfect in every way.
(, Mon 8 Aug 2011, 17:24, 4 replies)
*Really* annoying partner!
it all started wen i was hangin out at the beach n i saw a fat woman n i was like roffle beech whale more like a beach whale ruffle n she turns round n gives me a cold glare n im like shit n she comes at me like a fukin fr8 train so am like fuck that n start runnin off i didnt giv any consideration to the Rags to Ritchie book i left on the beach or me towel so i was jus in me bludy swimmin trunks n sandals runnin away from a fat woman n i kept runnin like michael jordan or som shit n ended up in a hut so this mans there n es like wot u doin ere lad n im like sorry mate i was runnin away from a fat woman n this is where i ended up n e said theres nowt for u ere mate n im like sorry mater i didnt fuckin expect to come in ur shitty hut did i n e goes y u callin my hut shitty for u little prick n im like its not tht bad but its no pizza hut ruffle n e smacks me in the lip n im a hard man and wont take any shit so i smacked im r8 back n got im a good 1 on his chin n he goes u havent seen the last of me yet as e falls on the floor so i go out the hut n i notice one of me sandals is comin loose which is a shame bcuz of all the sandals i av ad these wer by far me favourite they were blue n had a little swiryl pattern but ononehtelss if u love somethin u hav to let it go so i tk me sandles off n jus walked barefoot along this road n i came across a woman not literally came acorss her ruffle but i encountered her n i said excuse me but do u no where i can get som spare sandals n she goes ye i do but im not tellin u unless u go on a diet u fat cunt n i was a bit ashamed n thought she was a bit rude so i go home n start rethinkin me life n i went for the fridge n go no drubert dont do it n dropped the donairs i was pickin up n go rite time 4 a change laa time 4 a change so i go to sleep n i wake up n go to the gym n jus get on the rowin machine n start rowin not rowin as in arguin roffle but propa pullin the thing back n it took abt 5 mins before i was bare on tired so i fked it off n went to the lounge n bought a bacon sandwich n was like fk rowing then all of a sudden the fat woman came in n she seen me n i was redy for confrontation i am not afrade of anything which is y they call me iron bollocks drubert so she comes at me n i jus kick her but me leg gets stuck in her fat n she swings me rond n im on the floor n she jumps on me n i fkin suffocated didnt i the fat shite so i ended up in hospital which is the las place i wanted 2 b as me cuzin roderick works there and he is a fucking A__SHOLE n he comes up n goes haha gettin into trouble i see n i go ur face will get into trouble if ur not careufl u little wanker n e didnt look pleased but e jus decided to b the bigger man n walk away n i got dealt with didnt i so ater tht i go to a shop n buy some nw sandals n i called my cousin roderick n go hey roderick do u fancy nippin down the beach n e goes ye n we met up by the record store which is where i bought me first cd it was a mr men cd i was only little n we walk onto the beach n start checkin out the fit girlz which is wot we came for in the 1st place ruffle n we take our tops off n roderick had much better six pak abs than me unfortunally i only had a 5 pak and i got a bit jealous so i took my trunks off to reveal me big Donald "Dangerous" Dangler n a police saw me so am like bludy hell i gotta do 1 so i ran off as fast as i could but i ad not adapted to me new sandals yet n therefore i tripped over n e cuahgt me n goes ur nicked son so i end up in jail n they slip me thru a nutri grain bar as i ad not ad any dinner that day n me mum comes n sees wot a st8 i am in n goes o boy uve gone and done it again avent u uve rely gone and done it now all i cud do was look down as i was ashamed in meself n so was me mum evidently but i got taken home n decided it was time to turn over a new leaf n be a more sensible boy so neext day i go 2 marks n spencers n buy the best lfipin suit i cud find and the suit was 2 become my new original character trait as i do not have much of a personality and need somethin a bit wacky n zany to make me seem like an interestin person so a suit it was n me mate selina told me women find men in a suit sexy so result i went out in me suit n ladies heads kept turnin i thought it was becuz i looked sexy but i was soon to realize it was becuz me suit was on backwards n i felt like such a waly i ran home locked meself in me room n cried 4 hours on end i also listened to some The cure as they help me wen i am feeling down i dont remember the songs i listend 2 but they had good melodies which is my favourit thing about them n after a long hard cry i had 2 feed me pet lizards but unfrotunatly they ad deid so i took them out 2 the garden n buried nthem n held a little ceremony with my doll Harajuku Barbie and my GI JOE action figureine where i sed rest in hollywood larry the lizard and lisa the lizard u were the best my respect ye cmon after tht i ws feelin down so i went 2 a bar downtown were i could dance the nite away i mingled with the folk n became a bit intoxicated a bit naugty i know but i was avin a bad day n i jus let me feet take control from there on in n i met the woman of my dreams er name was Caroline which reminded me a bit of Childline but i did not let it bother me 2 muc hshe was beautiful with ag reat figure and nice hair as the nite went on we got more n morei ntimate n she invited me back 4 coffee i am a man that luvs my coffee i can not go a morning withotu it and although i am not keen on it at nighttime i decided i wud take up her offer n go back to hers n we got there n she goes ok let me get the coffee n comes back n jus a bit of skimpy cloving rly n i wasl ike o haha i catch ur drift so i got naked on the spot but i was shakin more than Patrick Scarola the time he had cybersex with his tnegaged girlfriend n the nerves were makin me Donovan Dangler rather small so i was a bit embarrased but nonehteless i was redy for action n then Caroline goes i av somethin 2 put in u n she takes er pants down n fuck me she had the biggest twizzler i ad ever seen then it took a fewminutes to sink in its a bludy tranvestite ent it! i was ferin for my life man i started to run off but he/she grabbed me n goes ur not goin anywhere sexy from then on i jus ad to accept me fate cuz e was stronger than me i wudnt say it was rape becuz i did not mind me insides bein tickled by im but rly i wasnt sure if i liked it or not anyway i woke up in the mornin feelin like p diddy if p diddy was a young scrawny white boy with a stretched out rectum i put me cloves on n started to walk home as i was walkin home i started to quite enjoy the walk n started doin a few cheeky body pop jigs n started singin the arthur theme tune to myself wot a wonderful kinder day
(, Sun 7 Aug 2011, 19:09, 37 replies)
'Have you got everything?'.
'Have you got your iPod?', 'Yes'
'Have you got your train ticket?', 'Yes'
'Have you got the camera?', 'yes'
'have you got the your walking boots?', 'Yes'
'Have you got...',

'Look woman! I've got everything, OK? I've got my iPod, I've got my train ticket, my wallet, my boot, the camera, the lunch is in the car, the maps are in my bag, I have a book, I have the newspaper, I have bottles of water, I've even got the recycling ready to drop off on the way to the car, I'm not a child, I don't need you to list everything one by one, I can remember things on my own, OK?'

'OK, only trying to help'.

An hour later:

'Why do you keep pulling your trousers up? You forgot your belt didn't you?', 'Yes'.
(, Fri 5 Aug 2011, 9:57, 1 reply)
my wife....
gets upset with me when I introduce her as "my first wife" or "my current wife"
(, Fri 5 Aug 2011, 10:09, 8 replies)
My Ex...
...made me smuggle her coke through airport security stuffed up my arse.

And all because it was a pound a can in departures.
(, Mon 8 Aug 2011, 14:02, 1 reply)
Living with someone far needier than yourself...
His previous relationship had been physically abusive, so I guess it was no surprise that he had trust issues. When he first moved in, he was clingy and obsessive and badgered me constantly for attention. He’s still not comfortable with my friends and we tend to spend the evenings in as he’s not one for partying.

I do love him, but the constant need for reassurance, waking me up in the night to check I’m still there and that everything’s okay can be really wearing. But I know that I’m his entire reason for being and the smile he puts on my face when I see him makes all his annoying habits worthwhile.

That said, I’d prefer it if he didn’t piss in my laptop bag, or use my leg as a scratching post, but that’s cats for you.

What?
(, Fri 5 Aug 2011, 12:56, 6 replies)
I live with Amorous Badger.
That is all :(
(, Wed 10 Aug 2011, 13:33, 15 replies)
Like a kipper....
Several years ago I found myself on a project with an individual who's technical knowledge would haved struggled to fill a postage stamp. However, through being a friend of a friend, he ended up blagging his way into a role way above his skill set. He made up for this by being a sneaky little bugger, when an issue arose he would hang on the shoulder of myself or the other member of our merry band of three whilst we worked out what was wrong. As soon as you uttered what you believed the issue to be and how to fix it, off he would shoot like the flash, locate the nearest most senior person and, yep you guessed it..."We've worked out what the issue is, it's XYZ and I think we should do XYZ to fix it".

After about 3 months of this, I was getting pretty hacked off, until one day the perfect opportunity arose. A serious production problem occured for which I new what the fix was before I looked at (a fairly simple one), however I logged on, went through the motions with matey watching all the time, then stated that the problem was XYZ and the fix for it was to reboot the server, a drastic fix to a live service to say the least. Before you could say "faster than a speeding bullet" he was off.....

So cutting a long story short, he gave the powers that be the wrong diagnosis, got them to prepare to reboot a live service affecting a large amount of users, before I stepped in. I explained what the real problem was, that I'd already fixed it, there was no need for a reboot and asked how he'd managed to come to that diagnosis for the problem. Of course he tried to blame it on me, but that just made him look worse, he ended up on a "performance improvement plan", and he never bothered me again.



Apologies for length...
(, Thu 4 Aug 2011, 16:24, 2 replies)
He's a veritable annoyance at times
Very well, he's a respected figure in society and has doubtless saved many lives and rescued countless innocents from exploitation, not to mention saved thousands upon thousands of pounds.

Yet I must say, though it pains me and fills me with guilt to do so, that he can be most - vexatious, is the polite word. Worst of all are his mood swings. Days and days and even weeks of torpor, and suddenly all manic activity and rushing about and dragging me along to the back end of beyond or some vile den of iniquity.

Consequent to this I can go months and months without hearing from him and then all of a sudden receive a telegram requesting my urgent and immediate attendance! It is not as if I do not have my own vocation - quite the opposite - I am as respected and valued in my field as he is in his.

He can also be extremely patronising. Granted, his intelligence is superior to most of the rest of the human race, myself included - but I am no idiot, though he often treats me as one by teasing me with riddles and condescendingly congratulating me when I have myself come to a conclusion he has already reached himself.

I'm not even going to start in his predilection for various harmful and addictive substances.

I often honestly wonder why I keep up my acquaintance with him, and the truth is that life would be extremely dull without him, so I must brace myself and put up with his peccadilloes.

Sometimes, though, just sometimes...

But hush I have said enough. I'd better not sign this under my real name in case he finds out... oh who am I joshing, he's going to find out anyway but if I just initial it I can at least have the comfort of plausible deniability.

Yours,

JW
(, Thu 4 Aug 2011, 16:17, 10 replies)
My girlfriend moans if I leave the toilet seat up.
So, i've started leaving it down.
Now she's complaining about the amount shit on the top of the seat.

I just can't win.
(, Thu 4 Aug 2011, 15:11, 11 replies)
I promised my ex-wife that I would never speak of The Spoon Laws on the internet ever again
THE SPOON LAWS

"What did you have for breakfast?" she asks.

"Err... toast," I admit.

"Did you use a spoon?" she demands, in a tone that suggests the offending implement has been found jammed up the dog's bottom.

"Why..." I say, struggling to find the logic, "Why should I use a spoon for toast?"

"I hate seeing butter in the marmalade and marmite in the butter. Use a spoon."

That told me. New house rule.

And so, the next day:

"Where are all the spoons?" she asks.

"In the washing up"

"And why?"

I count off on my fingers: "Butter, margerine, marmite, jam, marmalade, tomato ketchup, brown sauce, barbecue sauce, Chicken Tonight, Ragu."

"Is that all?"

"And the one I found up the dog's bottom."

"You disgust me."


Here is a list of other house rules I may have broken during my marriage. (Not included: "Don't wipe your itchy arse on the doormat, I don't care if the dog does it all the time")
(, Thu 4 Aug 2011, 15:10, 9 replies)
My girfriend keeps going down on me.
Why is that annoying you say? Well, it's costing me a fortune in puncture repair kits.
(, Fri 5 Aug 2011, 10:03, 3 replies)
FUCK OFF
AND GET YOUR OWN CHIPS BITCH
(, Thu 4 Aug 2011, 21:51, 1 reply)
b3tans! Try to marry other b3tans.
Two people being miserable is better than four.
(, Mon 8 Aug 2011, 10:07, Reply)
Mrs Vagabond claims that
my standing behind her when she's cooking, and jiggling her boobies up and down doesn't count as "helping".
(, Fri 5 Aug 2011, 14:13, 11 replies)
Derailment
When Mrs Duck and I are arguing. Not the full on important stuff the stupid bickering we all do. She will quite often get her tits out while I'm ranting away and completely derail my train of thought.

She has got lovely norks
(, Fri 5 Aug 2011, 9:35, 16 replies)
The Secret War
A war has been raging for 17 years now. It's a secret war, the war that dare not speak its name. The war that they don't talk about,EVER. Even though by their actions their foe knows only too well when hostilities have taken place.

And so it comes to pass that every time I enter the bathroom and see the toilet roll with the tail of paper hanging "against the tiles", I change it so it hangs out the way, where it will stay in the "correct" manner until such time as the enemy next visits and it will be changed back. And so on. For ever.
(, Tue 9 Aug 2011, 10:51, 9 replies)
A nice cup of tea.
I’m feeling a bit left out this week, due to my "don’t go out with psychos" rule and a not finding little things annoying, like the way The Lovely Mrs RoF stirs the tea…the ding ding ding ding ding of the teaspoon back and fourth…ding ding ding ding ding ding surely that’s enough stirring, surely…ding ding ding ding ding ding ding will it never end…ding ding ding ding ding ding ding … Ah! The pause before… wait for it…three taps on the rim of the cup…ding ding ding.

I wonder if she’s made me a cup

Ding ding ding ding ding ding ding… that’s a yes then… ding ding ding


Neither of us take sugar.
(, Mon 8 Aug 2011, 16:11, 1 reply)
But... but...
One fine day, I gradually became aware of an "atmosphere" between the GF and me. She was one of those annoying types who believe that "You should know what's wrong", which is fucking irritating unless you happen to be psychic.

Well, I couldn't remember having made lecherous comments about her sister, wiping my nose on her antique lace bedspread, or staggering in drunk then attempting to do her up the wrong 'un before falling asleep in a fug of noxious Guinness farts, or anything else for that matter, so I attempted to ignore it.

But after a second day of frosty looks and folded arms, I eventually cracked and insisted she told me what was wrong.

Apparently I'd been unfaithful to her.

In her dream.

I can't even begin to analyse the fucked-up mind-state that would lead her to conclude that a) I should know about this, and b) should apologise to her for it. But that was where she was.

It didn't last much longer.
(, Fri 5 Aug 2011, 16:58, 11 replies)
Penny for them
I've had two girlfriends who would occasionally ask 'What are you thinking?'. It's one of those questions which is almost impossible to answer sensibly, and it's really girl-shorthand for 'we need to talk'. I could rarely anwer with the truth, which is mostly something like 'Phwoarr look at her tits', or 'Who would win a fight between a sheep and a dinosaur'. But then as they told me, I'm very shallow.
(, Thu 4 Aug 2011, 16:28, 18 replies)
They say breast feeding is totally natural.
Well so is masturbation, not that you'd guess from my girlfriend's reaction on the bus this morning.
(, Thu 4 Aug 2011, 16:26, 2 replies)
for some reason....
I don't have a lot of experience with 'Cavaliers'... most of my boyfriends have been Roundheads if you get my drift.
So I don't know if this happens a lot or what. My ex's cock used to stink (and therefore taste) of piss it was all under his foreskin etc. I tried suggesting that he wash before oral sex but he said it made him feel like he was visiting a hooker to be asked. I would therefore take a massive mouthful of squash before going down to dilute the taste. He thought I was doing it to be sexy. No, just to not boak.
He would also accept a blowy in complete and utter silence (it was pretty unnerving - I thought I was maybe doing it wrong) until the moment of impending crisis when he'd go "that's it, that's it, that's it, you've got it" EVERY SINGLE TIME THE SAME WORDING.
Oh and once after he'd blown his beans I realised he'd left a skidmark on the sofa.

Why did I ever shitcan him, what a keeper.
(, Tue 9 Aug 2011, 18:47, 8 replies)
Not suitable for those with diabetes
The problem with my partner is that he's just a bit too perfect for me. If we ever have a disagreement (which is admittedly rare) it's very difficult to stay annoyed at him. All he has to do is just dial up the old Northern Irish accent and all the wind is taken out of me. Its infuriating but if that's the worst I have to deal with then it's a pretty sweet life.

I'll give you the example of what was probably the worst argument we've ever had-

Me- "Stop leaving used tea bags in the sink! It's ickey!"

BF- "Ah sure, is that an offer for you to make the tea then?" *maximum accent*

Me- "Arrgh!"

Argument ends. He commences the 'Ha ha you love me' victory dance.

He also makes up vicious lies about me. Lies like I steal all the covers at night. Not true! I have slept in that bed every night and not once do I recall taking covers. Yes, my sleeping style has been described as that of a demented starfish but that's beside the point. I have also been accused that my special 'Ancient Chinese' massage techniques (complete with Kung Fu-style chops to the neck and back) are not a sacred art taught to me by an even more sacred Guru, but rather a cheap excuse to torment the Hell out of him when I think he's been on the computer too long. All lies I tell you!

Hands down though his most annoying habit right now is living in another city. Work commitments mean we have to be apart for a little while. It sucks but the reunions are regular and I can't wait to be sharing a postcode again. I don't tell him this of course. I just tell him how much I'm enjoying having a clean sink.
(, Fri 5 Aug 2011, 13:37, 2 replies)
I love my wife....
....but she's going to have to learn that THERE FUCKING IS A WRONG WAY TO LOAD THE FUCKING DISHWASHER. There may be more of these, I fear I may be a domestic nazi.
(, Thu 4 Aug 2011, 15:25, 7 replies)
Meeting The Perfect Partner (a roastpea)
I spent many years looking for the perfect woman. All through my youth and early twenties I bounced from one short term relationship to another. I met numerous really nice people - smart, beautiful, caring and so on, but I just couldn’t find ‘the perfect woman’ – and that’s what I wanted and that’s what I was going to hold out for: The perfect woman. After all, why sell yourself short?

In time I realised there was no one local who fitted my criteria so when I was in my late twenties I left my home town and my family and friends behind and covered the country looking for ‘her.’ But although I dated and romanced loads of women the ones I met were always too tall, too short, a bit podgy, too thin, wrong hair colour... etc. You know what I mean. I wasn't after second best so I moved on. I wanted to hook up with the perfect woman, and that's a fair enough desire.

In my early thirties I decided to take my quest overseas and I spent many years searching far-away places for the ‘right one’... All around Europe, through Africa, across the Americas... but again, despite meeting many great girls, I still had no luck on the ultimate partner front. Plenty of lovely people, but just not the one I was after.

However perseverance is a wonderful thing. After years and years of active searching I finally found her – The Perfect Woman. I kid you not: She was wonderful; she was faultless, she was everything I had ever dreamed of. Perfection. I was ecstatic. Finally, after all that work, all that searching, I had located the perfect woman.

And there is no doubt in my mind that we would have lived happily ever after except for one small issue: She was looking for the perfect man.
(, Mon 8 Aug 2011, 21:12, 4 replies)
Selfish through and through
I'm proud to say I'm now happily engaged in a wonderful loving relationship that fills me with joy.

However that was not always the case, for I am a divorcee. Without dredging up the bitter past I shall regale you with the tale of this Saturday when I had to return my daughter (5) who's been staying with me for a week, to my ex, who's been on holiday in the Caribbean for 10 days.

To set the scene, I was due to have my daughter stay with me a for a week as part of the school holidays and have been looking forward to it. My ex requested I have her for an extra day at the end (Sat) to fit around her holiday plans. No problem. She then liased with my parents that they have my daughter for an extra day at the start, so she topped and tailed the week to squeeze in her holiday. Fair enough.

Then she went to excrutiating details about my plans for returning my daughter to her (normally 90 miles/2 hrs away). She wanted me to agree to set times etc etc, but due to distance and holiday traffic I thought it irresponsible so instead suggested I come down on the train as she would be being collected from the station herself by her boyfriend... wait, what was that? Her boyfriend. Yeah, odd one that, she's having a weeks exotic holiday but leaving her live in partner at home? Oh well so be it. So all confirmed with her and as told to her I bought the train tickets.

SO, fast forward to Saturday. We're on our way to the train station and I get a txt message. She'll be home early, isn't going to the train station and how do I intend to alter my plans to drop off daughter?

Err.... well I can't. I'll be on the train, which sadly doesn't drop off outside her house in the middle of nowhere. I'd made plans that put me there early though so daughter and I could go swimming so advised the ex that I could meet early if needed, I also warned her of the motorway holiday traffic.

Fast forward a few hours... oh gosh, the ex is stuck in traffic that she couldn't have foreseen when I warned her about it 4 hours earlier. She's nowhere near the original collection location/time and my daughter is now more than ready to go home. So she calls her boyfriend and has him drop everything to come and collect daughter instead, which graciously he does.

For the first time I got the chance to chat to the boyfriend and nice chap he was too. Then he drops a clanger. "I don't know why she didn't sort this out with you before she went, I mean she's driven right past your house as it is so could have collected her and she had hours at the airport before she set off".

That's right, not only had she ended up driving to the airport, she'd gone right past my house and could without any difficulty have collected my daughter. Instead we spent all afternoon travelling Bristol to Devon and me paying for the privelidge because she couldn't be bothered to go out of her way.

Then the icing on the cake, he says "You should let her know, as she's well.... getting a bit like that". "i'm not even going to go there mate", says I. So sounds to me like he's started to realise she's a complete selfish bitch too.... Good luck.

I guess his holiday was a week without her ;-)

Price of an afternoon on the train in the sun = £30
Finding out the ex is still a bitch and her boyfriend has realised = priceless :-)
(, Mon 8 Aug 2011, 12:53, 2 replies)
Her continued non-existance.

Bitch.
_
(, Fri 5 Aug 2011, 18:53, 1 reply)
I want a dog
My soon to be ex-partner wanted a dog. "I don't really" says I, "I want a dog" says she, "But you work shifts, it'll be difficult",..."I want a dog". I continue a reasoned debate about the 'cons of having a dog that I don't want, but it's very difficult to emapthise with someone who basically behaves like a spoilt child and counters any reasonable argument with 'But I want a dog'.

As no middle ground can be reached she finally is resigned to the fact that I don't want a dog. Then I'm told that I will never be forgiven and that I need to move into the spare room. I do so beliving that she will calm down soon and see the sense in two people being able to have different points of view and still live comfortably together.

Next day at work, phone call. "Just wanted you to know, we've got a dog."

I'm currently looking at flats.
(, Fri 5 Aug 2011, 12:34, 12 replies)

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