I’ve become kind of a joke around work
this week. Nearly everybody that comes by the office asks me how the house
cleaning is going. I may have been a little too open about the challenge of
returning my abode to wifely standards of cleanliness. I’m actually in fairly
good shape. I still have to lower all the toilet seats to meet female
expectations; that might be the hardest upcoming habit to break.
I leave shortly to pick up a couple
dozen roses. I’ve found the amount of disgust I encounter on these now annual
reunions has an inverse relationship with the amount of roses I buy; sinking
swimmer and all that. I did find it much easier to clean the smaller house this
year although the Wonder Pooch contributed yesterday by having a pre-lunch
gastro-intestinal incident in the basement. After some minor adjustments at
lunch today I’ll have to pronounce the house ready (or not) since I pick up my Favorite
Panamanian at six thirty tonight (commence happy dancing – at least until she
sees the house).
I did get a chance to talk with this
vision of loveliness last night who revisited some of the techniques her own
mother used on us at her age. When I
remarked that she looked a little tired my daughter revealed that she was operating
on only two hours of sleep from the prior night. This was a new development
since she’d been doing good sleeping through the night. I could only smile because
her mother – my daughter – as a baby use to fight sleep like it was her worst
enemy. Justice comes in all shapes and sizes.
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