Saturday morning I had just finished reading the paper and enjoying a nice hot cup of coffee in the dining room when my wife asked, “Are you finished?” Great. Now what? That line can only mean one thing. There’s some kind of job she wants me to do and I’d better agree to do it.
“I’d like you to help me wash the walls.” “Really? They don’t look dirty to me,” was my reply, which I knew wouldn’t hold up with her. We’ve had a lot of people over to our humble abode and I’ve never heard anyone comment on how dirty our walls were. Never! It’s not like I could get out of it by saying, “Hey, you wash the walls and I’ll mow the lawn.” There was no trade off here. I resigned myself to the fact that shortly I’d have a rag in one hand with a bucket of some Mr. Clean concoction in the other.
I told her I’d do the living room if she’d do the dining room, which was a stupid arrangement considering the size difference of the two rooms. I should have had someone negotiate this agreement for me. Oh well. The sooner we started, the sooner we’d be done. We were all done in about an hour and a half and, to be honest, it looked exactly the same as it did before we started. My wife must obviously had seen something I didn’t. “It looks great! Thank you honey.”
There. My Saturday work was done. Now I could go back to doing what I love doing on Saturday. Nothing. I had some running around to do and I had some shows recorded that I wanted to watch. Now I was free to do that.
It was nice, watching TV, knowing that I was surrounded by nice clean walls.