It's not Him. It's Me.

When we first moved into this house two years ago, it made perfect sense to me to set up the bathroom so that I had the longer counter with the vanity cut out and to set up Wingnut with the shorter counter.  After all, being a woman with all the beautifying products I use, shouldn't I have more counter space?

Apparently not.  Now I do not mind in the least picking up after Wingnut.  He isn't as organized as I am and clutter doesn't get under his skin like it does mine.  He's a big picture kind of guy, whereas I notice all the little details.  I don't mind clearing the long counter of his collective junk each day, but over the last two years his stuff just kept encroaching until I had literally no counter of my own to use.  I had to put my makeup bag in the sink.  Seriously.

Call me dense, but it took nearly two years for me to come up with a solution that was better than moving his pile over to his counter in a fit of passive/aggressiveness, of which I am not proud.  The solution:  switch counters, of course.  Wingnut didn't really have a counter preference and he was perfectly good with my reorganization idea, as long as I carried it out myself.  As I moved our things from one side to the other, I came to realize that the shorter vanity has wider drawers.  Nice!  Marital harmony has been renewed.

The long . . . 

and short of it.