There’s that famous relationship trope. No, that’s not wondering if your husband is a giant lizard!
It’s when the human male does something disgusting and thoughtless, so the human female throws all his stuff out of an apartment window.
This is known by relationship experts as an “argument” and one that’s escalated to quite some degree. Let’s find out if it’s a good or bad thing.
When a Woman Loves Chucking a Man’s Stuff Out of a Window
All right, agony aunt? Okay I'll get right to it. My wife of two years, Erica, is a psycho bitch! All I did, right, all I did was accidentally cheat on here when I was drunk. Three times. In one night. On four separate occasions. And you know what she did on the second occasion through to the fourth? She did that goddamn psycho thing of chucking MY POSSESSIONS out of our ninth floor apartment window! Can you imagine!? I come home from a day of hard work and then there she is, nine floors up, and the bog brush comes crashing down onto the pavement! Then it's the bed sheet, then the duvet, then my clothes, then my games consoles, then bin, then the fish bowl (luckily we don't have any fish at the moment), and the bog roll, and the spare bog brush. That second bog brush actually smacked off a parked car. A really posh one. Dead expensive it is, the bog brush left a scratch on the bonnet and the guy was fuming. Fuming at me, he was! "Your bog brush scratched my goddamn car, you son of a bitch!" And I yelled at him, "Sorry, mate, but it's my psycho bitch wife, Erica!" And he went "You need to get control of your woman!" And the wife heard that nine floors up and began a gender politics debate about a woman's role in a man's life and the bog brush scratched car bloke was yelling at her and she was screaming at him. In the end she threw bog roll at him and it bounced off his head. He's now in a coma in intensive care. Three weeks it's been. But, like, every time! Every single time she was chucking stuff out (the third, fourth time) we lose the bog brush and the bog rolls. And it's really getting so annoying! I mean, yeah I get our maid to get all my clothes off the street and that and then she washes them, but losing the bog brushes like that. It's just senseless. After the fourth time I cheated on her I realised I needed to stop doing that. For the good of the bog brushes. But then... it was like she was addicted to throwing my belongings out of the window. Even like the most minor infractions after that, the most silly little arguments, and she'd be chucking all my belongings out of the window again! Like yesterday, I didn't put the toilet seat down after using the bathroom. Erica kicked off about that and said I'm "a no good pig dog of a man!" and then it started again, out go the bog brushes into the street, and I said aloud, "Oh God, now we need to buy MORE bog brushes! This has added $50 to our monthly budget, Erica!" And she flipped at that and started screaming at me, "ERIC! THIS IS WHAT OUR LOVE MEANS TO YOU!? THE IMPORTANCE OF BOG BRUSHES!?" And she grabbed the 40" HD TV and lugged that out of the window. It landed on a BMW parked outside and yeah that's now trashed. Anyway, we've gone to marriage counselling but Erica keeps chucking the therapist's stuff out of the window as well, so then we agreed to have our sessions in the car park outside the therapist's building. What the hell's wrong with this woman? Have I married a lunatic? Please sort this out for me, mate, because I don't fancy going through the tedious bollocks of getting divorced. Cheers, Eric
Eric. To be honest, we’re disgusted you’d go to a therapist before discussing this through with us first.
We’re a fully licensed agony aunt, what do you need with some marriage counsellor? What do they know that we don’t? We’ve seen it all!
Well, for what it’s worth, we can’t help but think you’re one of those pink shirt wearing husbands who likes to let his pink shirt do the talking.
But the solution to your quandary is simple and it’ll solve all of your marital woe. And it is this…
Move to a ground floor apartment!
Seriously, what’s the matter with you? Why didn’t you think of that right after the first occasion? Once you’re on the ground floor, problem solved.
We suggest even moving into a bungalow or some such. Or try and get an underground nuclear bunker. Anywhere where great heights are limited. Got it? Good luck, Eric.