Mud Days

Moving in with Sam was the easy part. Learning to share space has been a challenge for both of us. Sam believes the dining table is his desk. I believe it is to be used for what it is -- a dining table. Before I moved in, the table was always covered with mail, bills, magazines, feeder batteries, phone books, etc. I would always stack the mess into one pile so we could utilize the table for dining purposes. We compromise now --- he still uses the table to pay bills and work on paperwork but is better at remembering to clear the table when he is through. Otherwise, he knows I will put it all in a neat little pile and remove it from the table. I can picture him right now peering over his reading glasses at me and asking, "Where did you put [insert choice of lost item]? It was right here just two minutes ago." I shrug my shoulders and point to the "pile".

Our ongoing battle of wills concerns the floors. I detest dirty floors. I vaccum or sweep every day. Rain days create mud days. Mud days demand all the patience I have. Sam plays dumb as his boots leave a trail of mud clods from one end of the house to the other. He has one pair of lace-up boots that he wears on cold days. These boots were made for grabbing and holding mud until worn inside on a clean floor. Upon contact, the clean floor activates the boots to release the mud clods. AARRRGGG!! This always happens right after I have mopped the floors. Sam suggests that I don't clean the floors on mud days. "Robin, people live here. Do want this to be a shrine?" Well, yeah, that would be nice. My argument is that I don't like to walk barefoot or even in socks across a dirty floor. "Daisy Mae, wear shoes and you won't notice the dirt and crumbs." Yes, let's don't forget the crumbs that look like ant trails in and around the kitchen and dining area.

We have a 80% chance of rain tonight; 90% chance of rain tomorrow and 70% chance tomorrow night. I feel a mud day coming on......it is a waste of breath to bitch about the mud that will be tracked on my clean floors. But bitch I will. And Sam will act indifferent and say, "Don't worry about it. The maid will clean it up." He might end up being swatted with the broom.