I’ve heard that March is the official Passive Aggressive Month. I’m not really passive or aggressive (this already sounds like I have identity issues…) but I thought I’d take a moment to be passive aggressively grateful.
I’m not super good at saying ‘thank you’ in person. Maybe because I talk so much I feel like no one can ever tell when I’m being genuine and when I’m just on auto-pilot. Me and my motor-mouth.
So instead, here is my passive aggressive ‘thank you’ note to my ‘Housemates’ (who shall remain nameless because, how else could this be passive aggressive?).
- Thank you for you killing all the spiders. This needs to be mentioned first because it’s the most important.
- Thank you for reminding me when I need to do laundry (and for doing it nicely instead of just being like, “Gosh, is that you or the compost pile that smells so bad?”). Not because I actually end up doing it when you remind me but because it makes me feel like you might also remind that parachute pants aren’t in style anymore if I tried to leave the house looking like Kevin Bacon. I appreciate that.
- Thank you for not complaining when I eat the tops off all the pies, crumbles and crusty casseroles that come through our house. I know that must take some self-restraint.
- Thank you for saving me part of the eggs every time you make them in the mornings. I like eggs. Yours are especially good.
- Thank you for instilling in me an intense obsession with Tim Tebow. He WILL write to us one day, won’t he? WON’T YOU, TIM TEBOW?
- Thank you for laughing at my jokes. I know they’re not funny, too.
- Thank you for not going all Liberal Left on the nuclear waste in my bedroom. Eventually I’ll get a team in there to take care of that. Promise.
- Thank you for letting me sing all the time. I don’t know when I picked up that habit or when it will stop. Probably not until the stairwell stops making my B flats sound like auto-tuned Taylor Swift. Gotta love a good echo.
- Thank you for letting me practice my accordion. I don’t need to expound.
- Thank you for putting up with my mini-meltdowns. Like when I’m hungry and just keep opening and closing the fridge door, moaning like a wounded bear. Or when I stamp my feet and flail around like a toddler because I can’t handle how cold it gets here. Or when I stare dejectedly out the window, ignoring all life around me, and mutter things like, “I miss tacos.”
- Thank you for letting me bake. People of lesser faith would not leave me alone in the kitchen for such long periods.
- Thank you very, very much for everything else. I see it, feel it and appreciate it.