So, it’s not that often that I have a chance to ruin his world by leaving spatter on his beloved range top. But when I get this chance I make it my effort to smear. This gives Fuzzy the chance to relive his college days when he would spend hours buffing out the hood of his Camaro. Yes, he had a tricked out Camaro. I think he compensated for being a music major by screeching around in a hopped up muscle car. So, now he can spend hours after I cook buffing the shine into his baby. While, cursing my name to the gods of Kenmore.
To balance out the universe he has no ability on how to put a new roll of toilet paper near where I can reach it. Zipping through Bach's Toccata and Fugue? Ovation after ovation. Remembering to change the TP roll. Nope. Not that I’ve told him it anything about this. It’s like that quote from the Simpsons:
“I’ve tried everything but talk to him, and I’m all out of ideas!”
So instead of having an adult conversation with him, I think I’ll try this:
From Passive-Aggressive Notes, of course.