My Husband...the Destroyer

Mark...Mark...Mark...

When we moved into our house 2 years ago, we bought a nice new kitchen table and I loved it! I read all of the care instructions and when I cleaned it, I made sure to not put anything on it that I wasn't supposed to. I didn't set frosty beverage glasses on it without a coaster. I was bound and determined to keep the table in pristine condition. Apparently, Mark had a different idea.

One morning, he put this huge nasty box on the table. Let me explain...Mark works for US Bank Home Mortgage and he covers several branches from Lake Tahoe to Carson City to Gardnerville. Because he seems to be at a different branch every day, he can't keep his files in one desk, at one office so he has to  carry this huge box around with him that houses all of his files. A few months after moving into the house, Mark set this box on the table and grabbed a roll of duct tape. Rather than put his files in a new box altogether, like his father, Mark loves himself some duck tape, so he decided to fix the box himself. So, he grabbed his dilapidated box and he began to wrap the silver tape around the box....really classy, right?!

I tried to keep my mouth shut...I really, really did, but as I watched his turn the box in circles over and over again as he taped the sides shut, I felt like I was going to burst. He was half way down the box when I asked him to tape the box on the counter because I didn't want the kitchen table to get scratched. He glanced at me with this annoyed look on his face and told me that I was crazy and that his box would not scratch the table. He continued to turn and tape, turn and tape and I continued to bubble with anger. When he started the second round of taping the box, I again asked him to move the box to the counter because I was sure the box was scratching the table and he continued to ignore me.

I went on to make breakfast, all the while giving Mark the evil eye, I'm sure. When he was finished taping the box, he put it in his truck and when he came back into the kitchen, I saw him eyeing the table. I took Trent into the other room to change his diaper and when I was there, I could hear the squirting sound of what I know to be Pledge. I finished changing the diaper and when I walked back into the kitchen, Mark was hurriedly walking into the other room. Curious, I looked around, wondering what in the world he was cleaning because the man never cleans anything. I instantly noticed that half of the table was all shiny looking while the other half was dull. I yelled for Mark and asked him why he was Pledging the kitchen table because the one thing the care instructions said to not put on the table was Pledge. He acted like he had no idea what I was talking about! I pointed at the table and now looked at him like he was the crazy one. He denied even cleaning the table at all. I was shocked he was lying to me and told him that I am not stupid but he continued to play dumb.

I begin to inspect the table and what did I see? Scratches, scratches everywhere! Half of the table was scratched to sh!T and I was not a happy camper. I screamed, "You did scratch the table! Did you think that the Pledge, which you are not supposed to clean the table with, would miraculously buff away the scratches?" He looked like a little kid who got just got busted and finally admitted that I was right, his box did scratch the table.

That was the first piece of expensive furniture that he damaged.

The dresser in the nursery is the second.

A few weeks ago, we were finishing organizing and cleaning the nursery when I told Mark that the little sticky stoppers on the bottom of Trent's humidifier had somehow peeled off on the top of the dresser even though we have never turned the machine on while it was actually on that dresser. Mark moved the humidifier up to the top of the dresser one day after Trent kept trying to tip it over when it was on a lower table we had in his room.

As Mark inspected the sticky tabs, I told him that I would peel the residue off later. His response was to tell me that he would get Goof Off and remove the sticky tabs for me. I was horrified! I said, "No way! You can't put Goof Off on this furniture!." He asked me why and I explained that the care instructions said that Pledge couldn't even be put on the furniture and that he was not to touch the dresser because I didn't want him to ruin the dresser like he scratched the kitchen table. He rolled his eyes and agreed to keep his mitts off of the dresser.

About 10 minutes later, I smell the unmistakable smell of Goof Off. I rush toward the smell and see Mark standing in front of the dresser with a rough rag in one hand and a can of Goof Off in the other. As if in slow motion, I screamed, "Noooooo!" as I ran toward my husband in a panic but it was too late. He turned around and looked at me with wide-eyes, clearly busted. I glanced down at the dresser and what did I see? Four large, faded, almost white areas in circular scratch marks that more than stood out against the dark wood. I could tell that he was in full panic, both that he had been busted and probably fearful of my hormonal reaction. I kept asking him why he would put that chemical on the furniture after I specifically told him not to and he shrugged and said, "At least the sticky stuff is off." If I could have karate kicked my husband right then, I would have. He assured me that he would be able to fix it. Mark is a more than handy man, I'll give him that, but I knew there was no way that he could repair the damage to the expensive dresser.

It has been a few weeks now and the spots are still there, sticking out like a sore thumb and driving me nuts. I  know that I don't know everything but why oh why, won't my husband listen to me at times, especially when it comes to cleaning? I've asked him how he plans to fix the dresser and he always changes the subject. As I was packing the baby bag for the hospital this afternoon, I stared at those spots and had to shake my head at my husband...the destroyer.