In case you hadn't guessed by now, I like my P an awful lot. He's quite thoughtful and sweet and handsome and lovable, and yes, I think I'll keep him.
But I'm not going to lie to you. He's not the hugest help around the house.
Now even that's an unfair statement because he does cook half the time, but see, I don't mind cooking, so if he didn't do that, it probably wouldn't bother me. Cleaning though? I *hate* cleaning of any kind (except organizing--me likey organization!), and unfortunately, apparently so does he.
I don't push him much because well, I work mostly at home, and, ahem, I'm the woman and all. Yeah, yeah, give me flack for that one (I give myself flack too), but it's an ingrained mentality that's hard to lift. Now try to
I figure half-arsed cleaning is better than repeated arguments, so I leave it alone for the most part.
But sometimes I get overwhelmed, particularly during the middle of the week when I'm out of the house for at least 2 full (10 a.m.-8 p.m.) days--especially if, God forbid, it has been raining, which means I haven't been able to do laundry for a few days. That stuff piles up fast even with only two people, you know.
But I really hate doing the dishes. A lot. So the other day I casually mentioned that maybe when I cook, he could do the dishes. That didn't go over well. In fact, it didn't go over at all. I'm not even sure it successfully traveled the short distance between my mouth and his ears--a new record for the Things P Didn't Want To Hear Game.
[Such a fun game, by the way, fully adaptable to any partner and free to play!]
Or at least I thought he didn't hear me.
Last night when I came home from teaching, I gave LuLu some LuLove, and then I went to the sink to wash my hands. When I reached for a tea towel to dry them, I was greeted by this:
This scene may not mean a lot to you, but let's just say that when P uses hand towels, they never end up Martha Stewart pretty back on the rack. But this time? I was duly impressed.
And then I grabbed a yogurt from the fridge and a spoon from the silverware drawer. I noticed that the spoon I picked up was one of our oddball ones with a design unlike the others--not strange until I realized I had used the same one in the morning before I left in my coffee and left it in the sink.
I flipped around to see this:
This had been half-full of dirty dishes when I left the house, and surely P had eaten something when he got home from work and added to the pile.
But then...he...washed them? And dried them? And put them away?
I kid you not, my eyes swelled with tears. And I didn't even mind that some of the silverware was out of place.
Who needs a big fancy ring when you've got an empty sink and folded dish towels?
I love my P.
Happy Love Thursday everyone!