Vacuum lines in the carpet

Every two weeks we have a young woman come in and clean.  We started this some time ago (I really can’t remember when) for a variety of reasons.  Some people that I happen to live with might say that it’s because someone they live with doesn’t pull his, ‘err their, weight.  There’s an outside chance they might be right about that.  It’s also possible that someone I live with works way too hard and really doesn’t have the time to do everything on their own.  Which, is also probably true.  I’ll admit I’m not sure everything that this young woman does.  Someone I live with might say I’m oblivious to the specifics of cleanliness and once again, they’d probably be right.  What I do know is that when the young woman leaves there are these lines in the carpet and since I’m the party that doesn’t hold up his end, I pay for these lines every two weeks.  Let me tell you, it’s money well spent.

Whoever said money can’t buy happiness never hired someone to clean their house.  I know that the satisfaction of having a clean house AND not having to do it yourself makes my roomie happy.  I’ve seen it.  I know it to be true.  And when it comes to paying for something I don’t really have a great deal of motivation for, the check I write is very likely the best money I’ve ever spent on an item of this kind.  Now I know the guys out there might be thinking I’ve gone soft in the head but I’d urge them to think of all the things they’ve spent money on over the years that really had no bearing on their own, personal happiness and then weigh this small token against those.  I’ll give you a minute on that.

Couldn’t come up with anything better, could you?  Me neither.  This is something I do for my bestie’s happiness and I’m glad to do it.

I’m glad to make this relatively small contribution to our household just to give my cohabitant a little breathing room.  I’ve tried for many years to bring her over to the dark side of my approach to cleanliness to no avail.  She still folds my underwear (Why?  I don’t intend that anyone see them and thereby notice a wrinkle) and insists on sorting the silverware in the drawer (I used to just dump the whole thing into the drawer from the dish washer.  I mean, hello, timesaver!  It’s not like I’m not going to be able to tell a spoon from a fork).  Yes, mine is a special sort of superhuman slovenliness, I know.  Maybe my writing this check really amounts to reparations.  After all I sort of owe her for a few things.

I never really did do anything to make up for taking that shortcut across the front lawn to the driveway that one November with the kids in the vehicle.  Then there were the baby ducks (who became big ducks) in the garage and had very poor hygiene (even worse than me).  Somehow she’s never killed me for thinking I can cram just one more piece of trash into the trash bag (In my defense I can’t help it if she’s not strong enough to push the trash down any farther, but I’m probably going backward with that kind of thinking).  And since we’re talking about the kitchen we may as well talk about the “soak.”

If you are a guy you probably know about the soak philosophy.  That’s the philosophy that everything needs to soak in the sink with water in it or on it for a while before it goes into the dish washer which in and of itself isn’t wrong.  The operative term in the whole process is what a “while” is.  A “while” for me could be several days which does not begin to approximate the definition of the word for my bunk mate.  Consequently she ends up washing off the item and putting it into the dish washer.  This of course perpetuates the cleaning fairy legend which truly, I do not believe in, despite the opinion to the contrary of the fairy herself.  Honestly, I’m really not all that daft.

I know that my socks do not march themselves off to the dirty clothes hamper.  I fully realize that the pots and pans do not wash themselves and I admit to knowing how the dirty towels really got washed.  I’m not stupid, just self-deceptive.  I lie to myself about how the refrigerator gets cleaned and how the bed got made.  I fib that I don’t know how the drains don’t stink, the sink’s not stained and the stove isn’t covered with bacon grease.  Fact is it’s nearly as taxing telling myself all these lies as it probably is doing all these things.  (Okay that one might get me in some serious hot water)  It’s those kinds of things that keep me writing that check and being happy about it because it makes her happy.

Deep down I think all men want their spouse to be happy.  Sure, we gripe and bitch about going to the cocktail parties, attending the work functions and going shopping but we give our time, our attendance and our (grudging) participation because we know it makes our most special someone a little cheerier.  When you weigh writing this check which amounts to about a couple of meals out and takes all of 30 seconds to write against the other things, it’s cheap.  It’s a small price to pay to give our favorite partner just a little satisfaction that most of the things are clean and they can enjoy those lines in the carpet.