I know what you’re thinking and let me tell you: This Samuel Jackson is no Jules Winnfield. But he does seem to think God is on his side in his endeavors. Now, Kimberly, she says she wants to leave because Samuel’s a neat freak who questions her down to how she does the dishes. He organizes the dishes, both dirty and clean, seemingly in alphabetical order. “Mister Perfect” even threw her house shoes out the house because “they weren’t where they were supposed to be, in the closet.”
Now Samuel, believes “it’s order or it’s chaos.” Sandals with sandals, sneakers with sneakers. “I thought I would groom her, help her along the way. You cook and you clean at the same time,” he adds. “No. She still don’t have it right.” He also notes that you should have forks with spoons in the same section of the dishwasher, and thinks that dirty clothes should be folded. By his wife.
“I want it to have a clean look,” Samuel sayeth. “I’ve done it for so long, if she just follows my lead, it will become habit to her.”
In another issue, he thinks she’s cheating with the boss. She says they just go out drinking and play pool. “He’s like the Grim Reaper,” she says of hubby, who brought up a time he found her in a gold Infinity, to which she brought up how he checks her out at her OB/GYN appointments.
“We don’t have any secrets. I need to know what’s going on,” concluded a guy who keeps track of when Kimberly goes to the WC. “I need to know what’s going on.”
And that there’s the point when Samuel Jackson freaked me the fuck out.
Kimberly, for the love of all that’s holy and good and not maniacal, scattered unfolded dirty linens about the place, mix all the dishes up both in and out of the fundraiser and run like the breeze.