When I do go up there, though, I usually get pissed at Hubs. Neither of us are the neatest people, but Hubs is just downright disgusting when it comes to this balcony. When I looked out earlier this morning, I noticed empty bottles, cooking supplies, and even some dishes filled with rainwater. Usually, I'll go out there and just clean it up myself, but I was kind of fed up with that. I came in and was all, "Hubs, that balcony is DISGUSTING! You had best not come out empty-handed when you go out there next!" Hubs did what he normally does when I yell: He turned the tv up louder.
Hubs decided he was going to grill for dinner, so he went up to start the grill. There is a window in the living room that looks out onto the balcony, and so I was able to watch the following events unfold. Not long after Hubs started the grill, there was a minor fire. This has happened before, so I didn't get too concerned. He basically just puts it out using my best dish towels, and then all is right with the world once again. Why does the grill catch on fire? Because Hubs never cleans it. I try to avoid thinking about this whilst eating.
So, after the fire situation was resolved, everything seemed fine. Hubs was still out on the balcony, and I was on the couch reading. Then the doorbell rang.
I cannot tell you the streak of fear that always shoots through me when the doorbell rings. This is probably because nothing good has ever come out of that doorbell ringing. It's usually Germans who do not speak English and want something I cannot give them, and this incident seemed to be the same. This time, though, the person on the other end seemed angry and excited. He kept yelling at me in German. I was trying nicely to tell him that I don't speak German, but he wasn't listening and kept talking over me. Finally, I YELLED it to him, and he stopped. And then he hung up the intercom that connects our apartment to the one outside.
I immediately went upstairs and told Hubs. I said, "I didn't understand a word he's saying, but I'm pretty sure he thinks there's a fire in our apartment." Hubs just laughed and said I'm being ridiculous. And then our doorbell rang again. I said, "You get it this time!" So he did. But when he opened the door, no one was there. Several minutes later, the doorbell rang again. This time, a man and our lovely English-speaking neighbor from downstairs were outside the door. Our neighbor, in a panicked voice, said, "He says there's a fire!" To which Hubs, cool as a cucumber, replies, "Ha ha! No fire! I'm just grilling food!" A confused pause followed. "There's no fire?" she asked. "No," said Hubs. They finally left, thank God. Hubs came back and says, "How psycho! Can you believe that guy several buildings over actually came to ours to tell us there was a fire??" I glared at Hubs and said, "No, Hubs! Can't believe it at all! I mean, if I had seen a giant plume of black smoke rising from a building, I wouldn't think there was a fire at all. In fact, I'd probably just sit there and watch it continue to rise! IF YOU DON'T CLEAN THAT GRILL THIS SECOND, I AM GOING TO THROW IT TO ITS DEATH!" I then stomped down the stairs to sit on my couch and fume.
Several minutes later, I looked up from the living room window. Hubs was looking down at me, and the death glare we gave each other looked something like this: