A couple of weeks ago I was enjoying a nice hot cup of coffee and reading the paper on a beautiful Saturday morning when my wife asked, “Are you finished?” Uh oh. 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 would get me absolutely nowhere. 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. Ever! 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 and she knew it. 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 obviously must have seen something I didn’t. “It looks great! Thank you honey.”
I’m guessing that should be it for wall duty for quite a while.
