SUNDAY, July 23: Aside from having problems with fucking Internet access, I have spent the last few days conducting an experiment. This is still a work in progress, but I think I have amassed enough data to merit dissemination to the public.
It all started with this:
For reasons yet to be determined, my husband saw fit to leave this carton in the middle of the kitchen floor Sunday afternoon. I have tripped over it twice since. Is this a hint? Is he waiting for the Beer Fairy to come and replenish it? Does he simply not notice? I don’t know, but I am going to find out!
MONDAY, July 24
The carton (albeit knocked over) is still there, but has yet to be replenished with delicious beer. A paper bag, aware of this impending magical event, has made its way to the floor.
TUESDAY, July 25 (Afternoon)
The carton has migrated eastward, with the paper bag giving chase. I suspect this is because the bag is going to steal away one of the carton’s much-anticipated brood (which will find itself into my hand/liver).
TUESDAY, July 25 (Night)
After tripping over the carton, my husband goes about feeding the cats like nothing happened. He asked why I was taking his picture. I tell him it is for an anthropological experiment. Note that the bag is now directly astride the carton. Still no beer, but it is looking encouraging.
WEDNESDAY, July 26
Something is amiss. Perhaps the bag is migrating to the garbage can*? Will the bag make it? Will the Beer Fairy come? Will my husband actually break down and dispose of the carton properly? These are all good questions. Stay Tuned…
*Which I ‘retouched’ in this photo because Photoshopping it is easier than actually going to the trouble to clean it. Take my word for it: it’s gross.
WEDNESDAY, July 25 (Night)
I was eating my Gardenburger in the living room when my husband decided that he was a bit peckish. He wandered into the kitchen and shortly thereafter, I heard a loud sound. This is a sound I am very familar with: it is the sound of him tripping over something and knocking a bunch of shit over. I went into the kitchen. The bag has returned to the side of the beer carton. Nothing was broken (that I can find, anyway).
The bag has left the carton again— and still no beer! I cannot take this kind of drama. One usually finds this caliber of passive-aggressive mind-fucking on Nerve.com, not in my kitchen! Upon closer inspection, I noticed that the bag was inspected by “83”. I do not know who “Inspector 83” is, but I am going to find out and beat his ass for treating my beer carton like this. Heartless bastards.
THURSDAY (5:50 p.m.)
After reading this page my husband saw fit to actually pick up the beer carton and throw the paper bag away. He said he thought I was leaving them there for some reason unbeknownst to him and I suppose I was: to see exactly how long it would take him to pick them up…
TOTAL TIME ELAPSED: Four days, three hours, twenty minutes.