When I was a bachelor with my own pad, now and again I'd get a call from an out-of-town buddy saying he was passing through and needed a place to crash for the night. Cool! He'd come by, we'd hit the local tavern and catch up, go home and crash, and in the morning he'd be on his way. A good time was had by all.
With every woman I've lived with or heard about, something this simple never happens. Today, for example. A friend of H's from California is passing through and will spend the night here. Suddenly H has turned into a strange creature the likes of which I haven't seen since the last overnight visitor we had. Out comes the toothbrush and the Lysol, and she's been on her knees cleaning the house with more ferocity and meticulous attention than we ever find when cleaning up for merely ourselves. What's going on? Why are guests more important than ourselves? Why does the house become something we never, never, never see except briefly in the day or several when we have a house guest? What are little girls brainwashed into believing anyway?
I find it all amusing, even in my relapsed feeling-like-shit-again state. In a few hours, they'll be sitting around drinking wine and eating chocolate, and the house will smell like a sanitation lab. Very interesting.
1 comment:
Yes, it is odd. Today I will be cleaing multiple bathrooms becuase my brother and his family are coming tomorrow. I tell her - if they are true friends or family, they will not care if everything is not spic and span. But no, it is not to be, and so, in the interest of marital comity, we clean like Martha Stewart on methamphetamine. Go figure!
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