human, being

Special Favors
February 20, 2009, 11:59 pm
Filed under: love and relationships | Tags: , , , , ,

Tonight, as I sat sniffling and coughing on the couch, Steve cleaned the entire house. It’s part of our deal that the majority of the cleaning falls to him. I shop, handle the finances and cook, and manage our social life. It hardly seems fair, I know. But the fact of the matter is my idea of “clean” is Steve’s idea of “better clean up this mess.”

We knew before he moved in that I have a much higher tolerance for mess than he does. Within a couple of months of dating, he was cleaning the cat box. He claims that he has a much more sensitive nose than I do, and I wasn’t going to fight him. I just handed him the scoop and let him have at it.

Sometimes, the way he cleans pisses me off is not how I’d do it. I mean, I LIKE my piles. I know where everything is in them. He moves them all into one spot, usually in the middle of the dining room table, where I usually let it sit for a matter of days or weeks until I get around to putting the stuff away. Sometimes I annoy him because I can be a little tornado, leaving a wake of destruction in my path. I don’t mean to be messy. I just am.

I’ve noticed that since he went back to working in a restaurant, he has become even more anal neat-and-tidy. I admit that I’ve been a little passive aggressive in being sloppy, because damn it, I don’t like to live in a showhouse! But secretly, I do. It’s so great to walk into a spotless house and know that I didn’t do a damn thing to make it that way. Because when he’s done, it’s like I had a crew of people in here cleaning our little townhouse. Actually, he cleans it better than a crew, because he isn’t snooping through my box of sex toys and stealing my lube while he’s doing it.

At about 10:30, he finally collapsed on the couch. The basement and main floor have been wiped down and vacuumed. The dishwasher had been run and emptied. The dingy kitchen counters almost sparkle with new life. “If I weren’t sick, I’d give you (special favors) for all you did tonight,” I told him. “If you weren’t sick, I’d make you give me (special favors),” he replied, then promptly fell asleep leaning on his hand while watching a TiVo’d episode of The Soup.

I can’t guarantee that the house will still be sparkling when he gets home from work tomorrow afternoon. Hell, I can’t even guarantee it will still be intact, since both kids are here and they are messier than I am, Percy seems not to want to climb down the stairs to the catbox and has taken to dropping turds at the top of the stairs, and Noelle’s tummy doesn’t like the new cat food. But I can guarantee that when I can breathe through my nose, special favors are coming his way.


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I’m Nigel Tomm and I enjoyed the way you develop the story.

Comment by Nigel Tomm

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