Tired of your guff

As a creature of habit unto the point of ritual — I’m frankly impressed that I don’t light candles and incense to mark every damn thing I do — I am fairly predictable in my post-work behavior.

Say hello to the cats, change into play clothes. Put on the kettle for some tea. While the water is boiling, wash the dirty dishes left all over the place from Matt’s breakfast and lunch.

Yep, that’s it right there. That’s the part I’m writing about. Couldja tell? Couldja see it coming from a mile away?

I have discussed before the House of Filth I grew up in, with five newfoundlands who were laughably housetrained and never washed or brushed, and two brothers and a mother who were indifferent to housework unless company was coming. Thankfully, this only tended to happen once a year, at which time we would all spring into action to carve away another year’s worth of grime off the old homestead.

So I have cleanliness issues. You would too.

It’s important to me to have at least the common space — the space visible to visitors — clean. This especially applies to dishes, as my family of origin was wont to leaving food out on counters and dirty pans in the sink for days.

So, I wash my dishes as I go. Always. I have usually washed my dinner dishes before I sit down to dinner. It only takes a second, for god’s sake, and the pan isn’t really that hot. Try it. It’s not that hot.

So it burns me and riles me and builds up huge crusty piles of resentment in my black little heart that my husband does not share my cleaning disorder. So, every evening, an important part of my ritual is to mutter and curse and deliver silent ultimatums about the Importance of Cleaning Up After Thyself.

And you know what? Tonight I realized that I am sick to death of my grousing. Man, what a pain in the ass I am to be around for those few minutes every day! Jesus, me, get over it, will ya?

It only takes a few minutes, I have to wait for the damn water to boil anyway, and also just shut up. Honestly. Shut up. No one wants to hear it.

No wonder my cats don’t really warm up to me until after I’ve had my tea.

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