On Tuesday this past week, the girls skipped off to Grandma's for a couple of nights. I dropped them off there at about 4 pm that day and returned home, stopping to buy two bunches of the most incredible sunflowers from a roadside stand. As I turned onto our street, I had this detailed and bizarre fantasy that I would arrive home to find that B.Rube had tidied the house, put away the toys and vacuumed the living room rug. (I often entertain these type of thoughts. Mainly to torture myself, I guess, as I have to come to realize that B.Rube does little to nothing inside the house, except watch TV, eat and sleep. Even on this particular Tuesday, B.Rube had been outside all day working, as usual, and would not likely have ever come inside at 4 pm to clean the house.) So, I dismissed the insane notion as irrational thought and grandiose delusion, and turned into our driveway. I decided that I would have to tidy up, put away the toys, and vacuum, even before setting the flowers into their vase. And certainly before I could properly relax.
I walked into the house to find B.Rube lying on the couch watching TV.
The rooms were tidy, the toys were put away and he had vacuumed.
I had only to place my flowers into their vase. And pour myself a drink.