This morning I was complaining about every day being the same, so I flooded the bathtub.
I wanted something different, right? And that was different. Also wet. And messy. It was amazing how much sodden dust and cat hair was discovered by the 539 towels Dave used to soak it all up. Of course Dave cleaned it up - I couldn't be expected to do it. After all, I hadn't washed my hair yet. My bath wasn't finished. I totally felt justified to scream for my husband, who was downstairs trying to enjoy his lunch, to come upstairs and mop.
"Just throw all the wet stuff in the laundry basket. I'm going to take it all down to the laundry and wash it when I'm done," I said from my fortress of bubbles while my own personal Cinderella bent to the task at hand. He really was bent. I had a lovely view of the crack of his ass as he worked. "You might as well give the area behind the toilet a wipe," I added helpfully. "It's already wet and it could use a good cleaning."
He didn't say anything, just cleaned the toilet area while I watched his rather lovely hind end wiggle as he worked.
"Oh, and would you mind passing me my book?" I said. With a smile.
When I finished my bath, I picked up the laundry basket full of sodden towels and realized it was too heavy for me to lift. I am, after all, a delicate flower.
"DA-AVE!" I hollered. "IT'S TOO HEAVY. I NEED YOU."
Up he came, lifted the basket like it was a box of air, and took it downstairs to the laundry room, which is directly below the upstairs bathroom, and was floating in half an inch of water that had leaked through the ceiling.
He is an amazing person, my man Dave. I wonder what I'm going to get him to do next.