by Grace Brentley

Created on: July 09, 2008

Procrastination is not my area of expertise; in fact, it is my pet peeve. Unfortunately, in some twisted way, I ended up married to the king of putting things off. I have carefully observed his behavior in attempt to foil his clever methods, but usually just end up so annoyed that I either wind up doing it myself or screaming at him.

The first method of expert procrastination is denial. We have an understanding in my house that my husband takes out the trash. Simple concept, practiced in thousands of homes across the country. The trash can fills up, and then it goes to the can, which is then wheeled to the curb on pickup day. I become irritated beyond belief when the trash can is overflowing. I tell him the can is full, he responds by telling me that it is not and smashing the trash down into a tightly compacted wad so that we can shove even more in. Then, he wonders why he can't get the overstuffed bag out of the can.

The second method of expert procrastination is playing dumb. If I am stepping out and some clothes are in the dryer, I will ask my husband to check them when the buzzer sounds. I will come home to damp clothes that have been sitting there for hours. When I ask my husband about it, he will say that he checked the clothes and they weren't quite dry so he restarted the dryer. I tell him that they still aren't dry and ask him why he didn't check them again. His answer: I didn't directly tell him to repeat the process, of course.

The third method of expert procrastination is cleverly disguising laziness as helpfulness. It never fails that I end up putting up all of the groceries by myself. We return from the store, each lugging in a few sacks. My husband then insists that I begin putting up the refrigerated items before they melt and he will bring in the rest of the bags. This task, which would take me all of three minutes, becomes a half-hour ordeal. He wanders in slowly, with one or two bags or disappears altogether. He can usually be found talking to the neighbors or secretly checking sports scores on the computer.

The final method of expert procrastination is childish defensiveness. If my husband should help me with a load of laundry, I am expected to praise him for managing to fold a dishtowel. If these towels actually wind up in their kitchen drawer destination, I believe he expects balloons and confetti. If he ever does something menial yet not requested, watch out! One time he told me that he scrubbed my toilet and then spent the afternoon pouting that I didn't give him a medal of honor and a parade.

I knew my husband was a procrastinator when I married him, but I did not know the extent of it or how badly it would frustrate me at times. He knew that I was a stickler for promptness when he married me, so I guess we will have to learn to live with each other's annoying habits. Perhaps it is all part of his diabolical plan: he knows that the best way to successfully procrastinate your way through life is to marry a woman who would rather just do it herself!

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