It is necessary to reiterate my positions, in case you missed them somehow. I work all the damn time because my husband is a workaholic BUT I love him more than air. This is my story and I’m sticking to it. Let us not capitulate to any misdirected sympathy.
Recently there have been some new, unwelcome, developments here on Hippy Hill. The other occupant of this humble dwelling has taken to leaving work clothes on the floor here and there, wherever they are shed. Typically, I pick them up and put them in the laundry receptacle. I am not completely without empathy for the exhausted worker- regardless, if the exhaustion is self-inflicted. Repeated bad habits become infractions. Infractions will not be tolerated. No, they most certainly will not.
Socks on the bedside floor do not offend one’s finer sensibilities. I prefer their nubby wooliness out of the bed rather than in the bed undermining comfort. I will stoop to transfer the socks to the laundry receptacle without complaint. Trousers are an altogether different matter. I do not care to see them on the floor no matter how close the proximity to the laundry receptacle, nor do I wish to view them slung haphazardly over a chair back, or casually kicked off on the bathroom floor.
Standards begin to slip gradually and, before one can comprehend what has transpired, events accelerate in a disastrous cyclone of domestic mayhem. The other occupant, when sweetly reminded that discarded trousers do not belong anywhere other than the assigned laundry receptacle, has taken to responding, in a manner most slothful, from a prone position on the sofa, “I’ll get them when I get up.” You can imagine the gracious reaction to such a response.
Hippy Hill is on the east coast of the US, where there is a distinct change of seasons. As the seasons change there are household chores that must be completed. I like to do the chores, assuring they are done correctly. One of the chores is window washing.
Last year, in what must be a confounding new OSHA regulation, the ladders were removed from Hippy Hill as part of a safety campaign. I was advised by the other occupant that I couldn’t be trusted to observe minimum safety requirements in ladder use, thus they were removed. I have been requesting a ladder since just after Labor Day, all to no avail. The windows are filthy or, at the very least, they could use cleaning before winter.
A domestic revolt has been organized. It’s sad that it has come to this. Last night, I calmly threw the trousers out the bathroom window. That took care of that. Unfortunately, the members of the revolution will not be doing any laundry for others until the kidnapped ladders are returned. The manifesto was issued over coffee this morning. Standards are slipping. It is my duty to restore order so that harmony may return to the Hill. It is a portentous undertaking.