My husband knows me so well.
Let me explain.
The most disgusting room in our house is the laundry room as that is also where the cat box resides.
Our cats are not tidy. Litter gets splashed outside of all four walls and is generally unpleasant to maintain. Every now and then, besides the usual poop scooping (which obviously I’m not doing because I’m pregnant), a real, down and dirty, nitty gritty cleaning needs to take place. The floors need scrubbed, the box needs a total cleansing and purging, the food bowls need cleaned, the water fountain needs checked, etc.
Well, while waking up this morning, I heard some rustling in the laundry room. I quickly deciphered the noises and concluded that my husband must be overhauling the grossness that is that room. Sure enough! He he had washed out the box, spraying it down and bleaching it. He also swept, bleached and mopped the floor. He fixed whatever was wrong with the cat fountain, too. The room looks and smells wonderful.
But did Brian do this because he cared about the laundry room?
Did Brian do this because litter on the floor actually bothers him?
Did Brian do this because he finds the task of tending to the cats’ filth to be therapeutic and calming?
Did his motivation pertain to cleanliness in the least?
No, no, no, no, no…
As I sat down at the kitchen table, ready to eat my breakfast, he walked by with a sly smile on his face and asked, “Am I turning you on?”
There it is!
Yeah, he knows me.
And the best part is, instead of trying to change that about me, he’s just given in.