Had to call in the reserves yesterday to get some housecleaning done before company arrived and you’d have thought I was asking them to eat glass.
Catherine grudgingly cleaned her room (read shoved everything into the hamper or closet), but somehow slipped out of dusting.
Basil drew his lines in the sand. He would clean the kitchen. And vacuum a bit. But bathrooms were out.
Before he could possibly get started, though, he needed to play 30 minutes of computer solitaire, read the newspaper and run a couple of errands.
Those critical tasks finally done, he set to work on the kitchen, but not before putting the Olympic hockey game on the TV, and playing for a few minutes with the “extras” on the set that allow him to connect his Facebook account to the tube.
‘Cause that’s handy, especially when you’re scrubbing counter tops.
He was in the kitchen a long time, chatting through the doorway, before finally showing off his efforts.
I had to stop my work to take a gander at his work, and make sure I ooohed and aaahed at regular intervals.
‘Cause after all that’s what everyone else in the family does every day with all the things I clean, right?
After watching the rest of the game and putzing around some more on the computer, he plugged the vacuum in and went to work on the main floor (I’d done upstairs at 7:30 am, while the sheets were in the washer and after straightening up the living room).
Here he spent far less time than I would have, hopscotching from room to room rather than taking a linear approach. What’s more, he felt the need to take little breaks as though I was running a union shop. The effort was, I think, the full definition of “lick and promise.”
But yet again, there were calls for me to admire the job. (I think I will call for similar accolades when I’m doing laundry in the wee hours from now on.)
Back at my work station, I looked up from the computer keyboard and mentioned the bathrooms needing cleaning, but he said, “That’s where I draw the line. I’m done.”
Noting that our soon-to-arrive overnight guests might feel differently didn’t help.
He found a quick reason to slip out the door … leaving me holding the toilet brush, yet again.