Bitch, bitch, bitch!

So the WCM comes home and proceeds to not notice the clean house. Whatever. Then, he tries to dirty it up, earning himself a shitstorm of protest from me. Following his shower - because he was a tad, er, fragrant from his travels - he installed himself in his chair, parked his laptop on his lap, and commandeered the remote control. Oh yes, and he inquired about dinner and its incipient state of readiness. Business as usual.

And he wonders why I'm a complete bitch sometimes...

I scaled the heights of bitchdom later that night when I told him I'd rather not sleep with him, and quite liked having the bed all to myself. (Listen, pervs, I wasn't using the euphemism here, although that seems to be applying recently, as well) I told him he could keep to his own half, thank you very much. Well, the shock and awe that greeted that statement was quite the sight to behold, as this is really a first in my near 20-year relationship with the WCM. Frankly, I think it's good for him, and long overdue. This might be the bitch speaking, but I think he takes me too much for granted. I'd really like to see him try to exist comfortably without me. I don't think it can be done.

Tonight, he's taking us out for dinner. If he grovels enough, perhaps I'll allow him to snuggle later. If not, an "accidental" thigh to the goolies ought to put things in perspective for him.

I don't ask for much. Recently, though, I've begun thinking that I've never asked for enough, and that's starting to show.