I know that everyone washes their house, or at the very least hires someone to wash it for them.
Well, in this Southern household where equality reigns supreme (giggling here), Hubby is the house washer. I had a visit earlier in the day from my very first best friend, who I had not seen in several years, and, after she left, he asked me to help him finish washing the house.
Of course, I said yes with a huge smile on face, but that wasn’t really what I had in mind for an afternoon activity. So, like the good little Southern wife that I claim to be, I went grudgingly out to help.
This is what happened. Hubby did not want me spraying the mixture that he had concocted onto the house…because he wanted it done right.
Hubby did not let me use the scrub brush to make sure all the nooks and crannies were suds properly…because he wanted it done right.
Hubby did not let me rinse the house…because he wanted to make sure that all of the concoction was rinsed off – the right way.
So what was I doing all this time? I was helping, of course! I was sitting on a bench (which I kept moving so I didn’t get wet) watching Hubby wash the house. Pardon me – watching Hubby wash the house “the right way.”
Then, he informed me that he didn’t have to take a bath tonight because he had already been wet, cloroxed, and rinsed. Ummmm
I suppose if I had to guess what my part in “washing the house” was, it was simply to keep Hubby company, at which I excelled.
Has anyone else had this experience?