He should be in the Guinness Book Of World Records for his dedication for fucking up my house.
He could win medals, travel the world winning competitions, tournaments even.
If you think your boyfriend is messy... you need to spend a week with mine.
Jimmy, my fella of two years, has a wonderful ability to cover my cream bedroom wall with feet marks, not hand prints, feet prints... time and time again.
I'm not even going to mention the black hand prints all over my white bathroom walls.
Do other men insist on propping themselves up against the wall, with both hands, while taking a piss? WHY?
No matter how often I clean our lounge door, which so happens to be made of glass, it's always covered with finger prints... always.
I might as well just remove the handle. Seriously. Jim never uses it.
Why would he when he can push it open using the glass window with his greasy, KFC chicken ridden, fingers.
Obviously pushing the door open that way makes so much more sense?
Also I really should have clocked on by now about the cooking mess.
When he offers to cook dinner, I should politely decline saying, "I'll do it tonight darling". No drama.
If Jim cooks anything, it's guaranteed to be all over the walls, the utensil holder, the cook books, the kitchen ornaments, you name it. Not forgetting of course, ALL over the floor.
When he's cooked himself a simple Spag Bol, it looks like he's cooked Christmas dinner, for 10, blindfolded.
Even just making a cup of tea is a palaver.
There's tea slopped all over the bin lid, dripping down the kitchen cupboard and a trail across the floor from where the tea bags been slopped onto a spoon out of the cup en route to bin.
Moments later I shout 'bluuuurgh" as he's accidentally put two sugars in instead of none.
Hence the whole tea bag dripping, slopping, floor-splashing scenario starts again for tea making mark two, hopefully this time with no sugar.
He's been known to finish cup two by accidentally adding another sugar. No joke. Are men really this dense?
Another thing which you could look forward to if you lived with my boyfriend was his indescribable boy's logic.
The other day Jim was making sausage and mash... great, one of my favourite dinners.
I couldn't look as he turned our kitchen into a squat.
About 15 minutes later he declared, "the potatoes done, shall I put butter in them or just milk?"
I walked into the kitchen and saw the raw sausages still sitting on the side.
He hadn't even put the sausages under the grill.
I looked at him, frustrated asking "Why didn't you cook the sausages at the same time as the mash? The potato will be stone cold my the time the sausages are ready. How are you going to keep them warm?"
He replied, totally blasé, "I'm just gonna leave the mash on the side while I cook the sausages."
Why! Why!! Only a man could possibly think like this.
Seriously I have asked, in fact pleaded, with Jimmy at least 100 times, that is not an exaggeration, I wish for the sake of my own sanity it was, to open the shower curtain after having a shower.
We've had to throw away more shower curtains in the last two years than I can remember as they're covered in mould.
All he needs to do is leave the shower curtain open to air after having a shower. Simple?
Jim's response: "Babe, I just don't think, I physically can't remember to do it."
Maybe I should stick his Xbox in the bathroom and let that get covered in damp gunk? Bet he'd remember to move that.
Jim's amazing and constantly makes me laugh, but I'm in desperate need of Super Nanny to come and house train him.
Any one up for the challenge?
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