Is it true that familiarity breeds contempt? I wonder this as I sit across from Him*, surreptitiously watching as his finger goes so far up his nostril, I'm fairly sure it's reached eyeball. He's a nose-picker. He also leaves clothes on the floor where he undresses, leaves everything he's used to make a meal out on the side in the kitchen, and leaves food wrappers strewn all over the house like he's a grimy student. Things I knew in the beginning but chose to overlook as "true love" worked its magic. Or, both being in our thirties, we settled.
I wonder what about me fills Him with contempt? I leave the door open when I pee (but not when I poop, I'm not that gross). I am oblivious to dust. I also have a propensity to be haughtily superior (for superior, read smug) with tests of intelligence such as University Challenge, Only Connect and Mastermind. I am also very good with tech; gadgets, computers, car engines etc. I can't help it if I'm clever. But I shan't apologise for it either. But I probably shouldn't be such a show off about getting the Connecting Walls right on Only Connect.
So I wonder: is there a point after we've been with someone for so long, that the little things they do make us want to hurl a car at them? I remember reading an article about the superhuman things people do when flooded with adrenaline; one woman lifted a car off her child after an accident or something. And I'm fairly sure that a hefty surge of adrenaline flows through me now as I watch him take out his finger, examine the end and then jam it up for another go. And the car on the drive is not that heavy. I could probably lift it. At least I could have before my slip the other day knackered my back so that every time I move I grunt like a pig, or groan like a pensioner.
*Him refers to The Man With Whom I Live. Not God. I'm not all that down with the G Man. Still not quite convinced he's real. A bit like Santa.