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“ð Tsundere Wife’s Battle with Furniture”
My wife, no matter how you look at her, is the textbook definition of a “put-together” person.
She handles housework and her job with precision, always calm and collected.
But even someone like her has moments when her “klutz mode” suddenly kicks in.
It happened one weekday night.
Weâd just finished dinner and were chilling, watching TV.
Out of Oto, my wife stood up, saying, âOh, I need to bring in the laundry~â
And thenâ
CRASH!! ð¥
A deafening noise echoed through the living room. What the heck was that!?
The next momentâŠ
âOWWWW!!!â ð«ð¢
I turned around to see my wife crouched on the floor, clutching her foot. Sheâd slammed her pinky toe into the corner of the shelf by the front door.
Her face? Oh man.
It was exactly like a pro wrestler who just got whacked with a folding chair outside the ring.
Furrowed brows, mouth gaping, clutching her foot like she was in a war zone.
I cautiously asked, ââŠYou okay?â
Her response?
âUgh⊠It doesnât even hurt!!â ð¢ð€
(Uh-huh, sure. Tears in her eyes, nose all red, and that pinky toe looking rough.)
Suddenly, some weird tsundere switch flipped in her. While rubbing her foot, she snapped,
âLook, Iâm totally fine, okay? I can walk!â ð€
She stood up⊠but her walk? Oh boy.
She was limping, favoring one foot, hopping along like some ninja on a stealth mission ðââïžðš.
Her steps were so quietââswish⊠swishâŠââlike a thief sneaking through the night.
I couldnât help it. I burst out laughing.
âWhatâs with that walk? You training to be a ninja or something?â
She shot back, âDonât laugh!! ð¢ This is advanced evasion tactics!!â
Half-yelling, half-laughing herself. ð€£
And it only got better.
For the rest of the night, she kept muttering in the living room, âUgh, so annoying⊠stupid shelfâŠâ ð€
Like, câmon, it was 100% her fault for not watching where she was going.
Finally, she stood up, marched over to the shelf, andâget thisâstared it down like a samurai.
âYou! If youâre gonna stand there, at least introduce yourself!â ð¡
âPut a sign on yourself that says âDanger Zoneâ or something!!â
She was dead serious.
The shelf? Silent.
Me: âWait, are you yelling at the shelf?â
Her: âThis shelfâs corner did it on purpose, I swear!â ð¢
(Furniture conspiracy theories, anyone?)
For a while, she went on about âshelf distance management,â but eventually, she couldnât keep a straight face.
She cracked up, saying, âAm I an idiot or what?â while icing her toe and laughing her head off.
Her âshelf rageâ didnât let up that night, though.
By bedtime, she was legit considering grabbing a file to âshave down that corner.â
I had to step in and stop her. ð€£
ð Epilogue (Bonus)
The next day, she was still whining, âMy toe still hurts~ ðŠâ
So I teased, âYou make peace with the shelf yet?â
She smirked and said, âYeah, we had a talk. The corner apologized.â
âŠMy wifeâs gone full gremlin mode, and Iâm dying. ð
What about you guys?
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