November 10
I was only half-joking when I asked Rob if we should just delay cleaning for a whole month so we could do one last thorough job when we moved. His enthusiastic response was alarming enough that I promptly cleaned one of the toilets last night. By promptly, I mean I sprayed it down with cleaner at 5:00 and forgot about it until I headed for bed at 11:30 (stupid, I know, I'm trying to break the late night habit). Cleaning a toilet at midnight isn't high on my list of things to do, mostly because cleaning toilets is already pretty darn low on that list.
Today, the same man who would cheerfully live in filth if I let him (I think - we haven't tested the theory since getting married), cheerfully helped me clear the floors, then swept them himself, then mopped them, while I moved furniture back into place and vacuumed. It may have to do with the fact that I lovingly called him the "Mop Master," or perhaps with the fact that I have a habit of touching him inappropriately when asking him to do unpleasant tasks, or maybe with the fact that he daily sees my pathetic attempt at life in the first trimester and took pity on my sorry little act.
Whatever the motivation, a chore that I absolutely despise took no time at all, and even though it's far too cold to pad around barefoot, I know that if I did, my feet wouldn't find the grit of all the random debris that had accumulated since the last time we took care of the floors. He may refuse to clean toilets point blank and unapologetically, but he helps me elsewhere, and it warmed my hard little nauseous heart today.
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