Hell hath no fury like a wife who is fed up of nagging

Just point out to me please..where in that marriage certificate does it state that I've to pick up after the mess my husband leaves forever till death do us part?

When I had decided to marry someone a little different, color and smell notwithstanding, I was ready to put up with the family's misgivings, snide remarks from friends asking if I had to hire a live-in Scottish-English interpreter, and even a little bit of his oddities, like his penchant to eat everything with Hoi Sin sauce.

I am such a patient and giving wife that I could even put up with his irrational taste in music ( think Megadeath, Slipknot, Thin Lizzy), his passion for guitars that look old, stained and broken ( like his ESP Edwards) and his insane love for his petrol-guzzling, high-maintenance, money-wasting Range Rover called George. I could even put up with his humorless jokes. He began to tell me one that day. "They say the British weather is like Iraq. Sometimes it's sunny, and sometimes it's shite." And he started laughing to himself while Joel and I stared blankly back.

What I wasn't prepared to put up with though, is his thoughtless mess driven by his laziness to pick up after himself.

After returning from a walk with the dogs, his shorts and Tshirt were found on top of the laundry basket again. Not in the laundry basket where they should be, but on top of it. And the teak valet in the bedroom looked like a train wreck with his clothes accumulating from weeks ago, draped callously over it.

I am even annoyed with that dumb-looking skull hanging from the car's rear view mirror, put there by him to announce to anyone who gives a toss, that he is The Headhunter.

And I can't fathom how anyone who had used the last bit of Parmesan cheese for his pasta, can put that empty Parmesan Cheese container back in the fridge again without blinking.

My friends tell me that their husbands are the same. This makes me believe that women must be saints to put up with such primate behaviors from their men.

When I lay my head on my pillow each night, I start to remember what I saw in this man. I remember how much he loves Joel like his own. Years ago, Joel's first bike and skateboard experience is with this man he calls Pops. Pops was the one who held his hands during his pubescent years and his first shave. I remember how he visited Dad 4 times to ask for my hand in marriage only to be chased out of Dad's office each time. Today, he is the husband who draws a heart on the foam of my freshly brewed coffee each morning. He's the one that I gripe to when work gets the better of me. He's the one that holds the family together with lots of love and laughter. I finally go to sleep feeling truly blessed.