Friday, June 25, 2010

Imaginary letter from my husband

Dear wife,

I know you are very busy being ridiculously attractive, thrifty, brave, and the primary wage earner, but we're out of clean silverware.  Except spoons, of course; we have thrice as many spoons as any other utensil.  Surely you must have noticed this, as you resorted to using a plastic knife to butter your toast this morning.  And yet there is still one knife in the drawer.  You must have left it there for me, so I could make a sandwich for lunch.  That's very thoughtful of you.  Nevertheless, would you mind very much perhaps tidying up the kitchen sometime?  I would do it myself, but you seem to find the way I load the dishwasher unsatisfactory.  Perhaps it has something to do with my clinical inability to rinse dishes first?  I suppose I have more faith in its cleaning power than past experience would warrant.  Regardless, we are still out of clean forks.

Your husband.

Of course, we all know that he would never write this, because semicolons and words like "thrice" aren't really his bag.  Also, he's pretty good about not making me feel bad when I let the housekeeping slide.  I really did use a plastic knife this morning so as to leave him a clean knife.  I guess my plans for the evening are clear.


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  2. That could be us, except he DOES rinse the dishes - I choose to believe in the dishwasher - and as long as there was one knife he wouldn't care.
    So I guess really it's a letter to me from me.

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Be nice.