The other day I flipped the mattress over to keep it from being uneven and woke up sore this morning. That it was a Saturday and being a lady of leisure, I rolled over at some point and almost fell off the bed. This happens pretty frequently because I'm not the most graceful person. I consider it an accomplishment if I actually find the floor.
For a year now I've had a growing pile of clothes on the chaise next to the bed. I call it affectionately, The Tsunami. As it grows larger and more imposing I regard it with more respect and a little fear. I don't know why I can't just put the damned clothes away. I mean, they're all clean and I have several closets and dressers but I watch Hoarders on TV and am beginning to wonder. Spouse makes faces at it and says nothing to me but I know it irritates him because he's the neatest person I've ever met in my life, insufferably so. In fact, I'd probably feel a lot better about things being more equitable if he left his boxers lying around once in a while, but I have better odds of being struck by lightning in my own bathroom.
I sat on the edge of the bed and studied The Tsunami. It was all clean clothes and some still with labels on or in the bags they came home in. I'll wear all of it, except for the dress I keep promising my buddy in Australia and contemplate beginning to organizing it today today TODAY. I look at the three closets around the room, originally 'his', 'hers', and 'theirs' and now 'hers', 'hers', and 'hers' simply by necessity. I'm an inveterate clothes horse and Spouse is strictly a jeans and tee-shirt man. Everything he wears fits into three dresser drawers and he's already fearfully looking at me sideways knowing the inevitable. The garage and the basement are all his so he can hardly argue with me and won't but still he growls a little when he walks past my friend Tsunami which at this point has now become my big warm dependable buddy. It's definitely a co-dependent relationship.
"Are we gonna get started on that today?" he sighs. He knows. I look at it. I look at him. I look at it again. The cat looks at it and resumes licking her butt. Nothing to see. Move along. Move along.
I get up to open a closet door and he says, "I'm going downstairs to make coffee. Want some?" I exhale in relief. The mostly pink elephant in the room gets a reprieve for another day and I go downstairs and eat leftover apple pie for breakfast.