This post came to me while I was in the shower. This actually makes sense if you read on.
L goes to work earlier than me. He is up and ready to go before I have half-opened one swollen eye. We have a shower with glass doors that leaves water marks unless you squeegee it. Because I am the last person to shower, I have the job of squeegeeing. Literally every day, I stand in the shower and see the outline of my husband’s face and hear his voice all Wizard of Oz style telling me, “Squeegee the shower, Carly.”
I am on auto-pilot most mornings, so I usually do it without thinking. But sometimes, I get lazy and actually have an internal debate with myself whether to squeegee or not. Once or twice, I have wiped the door with my towel in order to avoid doing it. I liken it to when I was five years old and used to run my toothbrush under the running water to “trick” my parents into believing I brushed my teeth.
One time the fact that I was crapping out on my squeegee-ing duties came up during a fight. I couldn’t believe he actually had PENT UP frustration at me for forgetting to squeegee (a fact he disputes, but come on, it got mentioned!) I, on the other hand, probably wouldn’t notice if he painted the bathtub a different color, let alone if he cleaned condensation off a shower door. I am totally the dude in this relationship.
Anyway, we are different people. It takes a delicate balance and fair amount of compromise to make it work. When he married me, he resigned himself to getting a little messy, and I resigned myself to getting a little organized.
I don’t think I could marry someone exactly like me or we’d probably spend too much time talking about what needs to get done and not doing any of it. L probably couldn’t marry someone too much like him, because they’d burn the house down fighting over who vacuums the carpet better and why.
And that’s the story of me and The Squeegee.