Memoirs Of A Not-So Trophy Husband

The other night I played my first soccer game of the season. With nearly every first game of a new season, there's one guy who opens his bag to find the socks he wore to the last game of the LAST season. Could have been 2 weeks ago. Could have been 2 months ago. Doesn't really matter because, anything beyond 48 hours, and you're calling in a HAZMAT team to deal with what could quickly deteriorate into Chernobyl '09. Here's how it usually goes down:

Stinky Sock Guy: "Whoa! Dude! I forgot to take my socks out of my bag after last session. (Takes a whiff) OH MY GOD! THAT'S SO HORRIBLE! HERE! SMELL THIS!"

Teammate: "NO WAY, MAN! NO WAY! Wait. Okay, let me see. (sniffs) AAAAAAAAAAH! That's the WORST! Hey, Troiden, you GOTTA smell this!"

Now, a year ago I would have willingly took my turn at olfactory obliteration and inhaled this smell so rancid that I can actually see it. It's just what guys would normally do. My time at home, however, has changed me. I am no longer tolerant of things that are dirty, gross or disgusting. I like clean, orderly and managed. You know how a blind person can hear sounds no one else can hear? That's me with dirt. I now have a heightened sense of filthy and I'm noticing grossness in places I've never noticed before, including:

Lightswitches
At first I thought, "Wow. How contemporary." Then I realized our black lightswitches weren't a product of some new interior decorating scheme but rather the result of grubby little unwashed hands. How vogue.

Toaster
Never realized you needed to clean out a toaster until I accidently turned it upside down and enough crumbs fell out to recreate two whole kinda-brand-new pieces of toast.

Lint Trap
Okay, I've always known about the lint trap in the dryer. Just wasn't sure how often it needed to be emptied until one day, after trying to dry a load of jeans three seperate times, I pulled it out and discovered what appeared to be a throw pillow in there.

Underside of kitchen chairs
You know how you go to a fancy restaurant and you get nice linen napkins to wipe your hands with? Yeah, well, apparently my kids have decided that the underside of the chair is that fancy linen napkin.

Top of the ceiling fan.
Don't you love it when the fan's been off for a while and when you next turn it on it your living room suddenly looks like that footage from 1980 when Mt. St. Helen's erupted, minus the deadly, toxic gases of course.

For that, I've got a pair of soccer socks you can borrow. . .