Sure, this may sound excessively transactional after our many years together. Go ahead and judge me. It works.
I wouldn't call myself a neat freak. It would be more accurate to say that over time, the messiness that collects in my house slowly drives me crazy, and eventually I snap. I have been known to walk around with a garbage bag, throwing out-of-place items away.
I can't identify the precise moment at which I lose my mind. It isn't Piece of Mail #17 or Dirty Sock #5. Well, it might be either of those things. What I mean is that it is an art, not a science. It may be some indefinable combination of dirt on the kitchen floor and congealed leftover cereal. I think I am pretty laid-back about messiness most of the time, but I can't handle a total takeover of disorder. My stress level was rising all week. I made pointed comments and emptied the dishwasher while glaring at my family.
By Saturday night, I was furious. I did not have a garbage bag. Instead, I walked around staring pointedly in the direction of the biggest messes. After some heated words, I decided to go to bed early. No point in fighting.
I awoke to find that he had cleaned the house. He'd even Swiffered the floor. It was very sexy.
I decided that since he'd gone the extra mile, I should, too. I pulled out my Naughty Mrs. Claus outfit. (Naughty Mrs. Claus is always good for a party of two, but I do not recommend her for the office Christmas party: she's a bit of a ho-ho-ho.)
And when it was all finished, I rolled over to find him checking Facebook on his iPhone. Damn.
2 comments:
Facebook has consumed us.
Amazing.
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