nest

Yesterday I decided that the house needed to be cleaned. This does occasionally happen. Often it will start with something as simple as realizing that the bathtub might be considered a bio-hazard, which leads to me realizing that I have no desire to kneel down on that nasty hairy bathroom floor, which draws my eye to the inside of the toilet bowl, which then makes me think about all of the bowls that are in the sink... etc. So I commandeered (also can be read as "commanded") my husband to take charge of the kitchen (seeing as how most of the dishes were his and all of the unsorted mail on the counter was his... not that I keep score or anything...) and I would tackle the bathroom. Then began what I like to call the Surprised Sloppy Spouse Moments.

SSSM #1: "Wait... why are you taking everything off the bathroom counter?"
SSSM #2: "The stovetop? You want me to clean that too?"
SSSM #3: "What took you so long cleaning the bathroom?"
SSSM #4: "Why do you need to clean the microwave?"

Now granted, I went a little crazy in my cleaning this time. I entered into uncharted territories like the top of the fridge (which was NASTY, by the way), the top shelf of our bedroom closet (SSSM #5: "Why should I hang up polos? I just keep them all up there until I need them."), the junk drawer in our side table/desk. I even went through my side of the closet and rearranged my clothes by type (pants, sweaters, jackets, then skirts and dresses... makes sense to me). So I realized that it was a little traumatic for Joe, but I didn't realize the extent of his fear until this morning. He had gone into the office to get a little extra work done and came back into the apartment as I was taking things off of our side table by the door.

Joe (the SS): What are you doing now? (edge of panic in voice)
Greer: I just noticed when I came out of the bedroom that this table really should be moved down about an inch or two. It will make all the cords less noticeable, plus there will be more room for the basket I put here for your moped helmet.
Joe: (fully terrified, wide-eyed) What are you, like, NESTING or something?

He says nest like it's a four letter word. Ha.