Today, I've cried. I've Googled. I've ranted. I've caught up. I also began from the beginning, under inspiration, going through my old archives on my oldest of old blogs. When I found one of my favorite entries from when we lived in an apartment waaaaa-ay south of our now Longhorn City. . . . . and, while 4 out of my 7 readers have already read this, I thought to myself, "meh. whatevs." because it so sums up my weekend of cleaning. I just had to repost it. Send hate mail later. I'll get to it after my workout.
Enjoy. I'll get back to original posting soon. Promise.
January 10, 2006
I love my husband. I truly do. But let me just say that there are some issues that raise their ugly noggin’ now and again. Let me explain.
I believe that my messes always make sense. I don’t believe that my husband’s messes make any sense. Take, for example, tonight where the husband got a new toy. It came in a large cardboard box, which is fundamentally normal. In his excitement he proceeded to open the box in the kitchen on the stove while throwing the “paper stuffing” onto the kitchen floor. I know that some of you might think this is normal and some may not. This is; however, not the subject of concern for me. What, my friends, is the matter of question is the clean-up of thrown paper and now big empty box sitting on the stove.
So, I proceed in the most tactful, warm and adoring way that I know how, “Honey, that’s not a very good clean up.” Now, I need you to understand that the husband is a good man who holds one of the biggest hearts I know, but at this moment, I accepted that a demon possessed the love of my life. I was somehow precariously in imminent danger. Flashes of red flowed through his eyes while smoke emerged out of some facial orifices. To which he responded, “Baby. Don’t. Worry. I. Will. Clean. Up.”
Next thing I know, the big box has moved from the kitchen stove to the floor in our make-shift library, whilst the paper joined it in such a manner that it too ended up on the floor next to the box.
I bit my tongue. . .
. . . . but only for an hour. Some of you might think it a mistake to pursue the concentrated effort of normal clean up. Some of you may not. I took my chances and declared, “Honey, you said you’d clean up.” To which he answered, “I did. I put it there for the cats to play in.”I'm sorry?