I say this to Michael all the time. “No tips!”
It’s one of those signal phrases that you say to your significant other. Like shorthand.
In this case: No tips = Stop telling me how to do, whatever it is you see me doing, in a ‘better’ way.
It usually goes like this, I’m cleaning something, like shampooing dog pee out of our carpet. Mike says “You know what you should do?” All helpful tones… I say “NO TIPS!”
It doesn’t work. Mike gets up to show me how I should be cleaning the dog pee. My irritation levels rise and I either attempt to kill him or let him show me his ‘right way’ or attempt to kill him.
The problem for me is when his ‘right way’ is correct. Case in point…. The Gas TANK.
I am one of those people. I push it. I have run out of gas in my car before. Therefore I KNOW exactly how far I can push it. The words that come out of my mouth are embarrassing to type. I always tell Mike, “But it’s not touching the E! If the needle isn’t touching the E, we still have gas!”
Yes. I know. This is the world’s worst logic. But try and tell that to the Remy that was flying out the door on the way to an appointment 6 months ago.
It was my favorite kind of appointment. I was giving house keys to a new first home buying couple. It just so happened that the day we closed on the house was also their anniversary. So special!
The plan was to stop at Target, get them some champagne and glasses (empty house) so I could leave them in their new home to toast each other.
I wasn’t even late. I had time to stop for gas. BUT, I chose WRONG. I thought, I’ll go to Target first, that way I can get gas at Costco, where it’s cheaper. I had a reason….
Sure enough, heading down Whipple Road I ran out of gas at a stop light. Some very kind gentlemen in a truck helped push my car to the side of the road. I decided to walk to the gas station, called an UBER to take me back with my gas can.
Part of me resisted even calling Mike to tell him what was happening.
You know how that is… I didn’t want to hear the, “I told you so.”
I trudged down Whipple Road on foot, my walk of shame. Bought a gas can for like $100.
Got chastised by the Uber Driver… “You know how many women run out of gas?”
“NO, you sexist Uber driver! How many?”
I filled my tank up actually made it to Target reeking of gasoline.
Bought the champagne and glasses and made it on time to the appointment.
If they wondered why I smelled like gas they said nothing and I didn’t tell them.
Now when I try and tell Mike, “No Tips!”
He can just point to that gas can.