It all started with this.
This is my husband’s version of a to-do list.
Things Scotch-taped to the door jamb. I usually see them.
* * *
He walked through the door yesterday afternoon.
“Jamie. You forgot to make the deposit.”
HATE IT when that happens. Especially when his face drops and his countenance ages 20 months.
How it happens somedays, I don’t know. I think yesterday, the deposit slip blended in with the white door frame. Like an itty anole lizard who leaps onto a green bush from the white painted porch.
“I’m so very sorry….what can I do?”
“You can pay the overdraft fees,” he replied.
Just between you and me, I didn’t say poo.
I said, “Sure, I can do that!”
And added, “You know, I do a lot of work around here that I never get paid for.”
This probably wasn’t the time to go asking my husband for a pay increase.
* * *
* 48 cents. That’s what my cleaning skills were worth in his estimation. “And that’s a gift. Jamie, look at this house.”
I beg to differ. It wasn’t perfect. It’s been worse. We all can find clean clothes and no dirty dishes lined the sink. (At moment of his comment.)
* I then asked what about all the driving of the kids I do. “A wash,” he said. “I do just as much.” (No way.)
* I brought up my shopping. This is when my teenager chimed in about there never being anything to eat. (A pork roast for dinner bubbled in the Crock Pot as he made that comment.)
* “Minus $50 for disorganization and paperwork.” I let this go considering the recent “failed deposit” incident.
* Then I brought up marital relations, what about that? “Yeah, that’s about the only thing you could really charge for.”
Super. Always got that for second career option. But at my age, employment in that line of work would entail relocating to The Villages.
“When you think about it. Jamie, you really do precious little. I think you owe me $1000.”
Now, I know my husband. He meant every word. But you don’t know him and how crazy he is about me.
Why else would he stick with me for so long?
I have been thinking lately, how running a house is an administrative skill. And on personality tests, I score under the South Pole with admin questions.
I should have remembered to make the deposit. I’ve always had a great memory.
Or used to.
Ugh. Are you an administrator?
Yes or No?
(Now that was asked like a true administrator. Fake it till I make it, baby.)