Spring Fever
Ed and I hate housework. We will put up with abominable conditions at times, simply in order to avoid it. Sink’s loaded with horrific dishes? Meh. There’s always paper plates. No laundry? Who says you can’t wear pajamas to work! We’re probably more flexible about the rules than I should be comfortable admitting in a public forum.
However, every so often inspiration strikes, and we find ourselves moving through the house like a cyclone on crack. This weekend saw the beginning of one of our cyclone sprees.
It all started on Saturday. We were butting heads over the amount of clothes I own that don’t get worn. Rather than put up my usual “shut up you’re a guy and you wouldn’t understand” argument, I got hit by the lightning bolt of domestic inspiration and started throwing things into goodwill bags willy-nilly. I then shoved our unused television out into the hallway, took pictures of it, and stuck it on Craigslist. (I got a nibble on it today. I hope to hell the guy takes it!)
Tonight, I came home from work, cooked dinner (a lottery-ticket move for me) and after nipping out for gourmet chocolate for dessert from the new market down the street, I came back, did the laundry, and REARRANGED THE ENTIRE BEDROOM.
What the hell is up with that?
The cyclone spree from earlier in the week led to a surplus of space in the bedroom. When I looked at it, something in my brain made a sharp popping noise, and I decided it was a good idea to start shoving furniture all over the place. You have to understand, moving furniture is a full-contact sport in my world. I will lay on my back, shove at a fully-loaded dresser with my head braced against a wall while sliding the thing across the room with my legs, ass, knees… whatever. I care not for how I look during these spurts of redecorative ecstasy.
Ed comes by a while later to find the bedroom in a completely different arrangement from the one he slept in only twelve hours previous, and his wife sitting in the afterglow of the furniture rampage, wide-eyed like a cat on the ‘nip. As a testament to how accustomed he is to my batshit crazy schemes and fits of fancy, he sticks out his bottom lip, nods approvingly, and says, “Wow! Cool!” He admits he is very excited about the bed being up against the wall again. I’m waiting to get clobbered at some point during the night due to disorientation, but we’ll see how that goes.
