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3:47 p.m. - 2010-05-29
She Who WILL Be Obeyed.

Ahhhh……

The majority of the ground floor is clean and this makes me feel ever so much better. The clutter and the grime were wearing me down spiritually and emotionally, but since I was already physically exhausted and ill I just didn't have the energy to do something about the mess. Today I am feeling stronger and more awake than I've felt in weeks so I tore into the kitchen. Mick was inspired to take after the living and dining rooms (helped in no small part by my assertion that a man wielding a vacuum cleaner is the most powerful aphrodisiac in the universe) and was on hand to help me with a few of the 2-person jobs that had been piling up. Mostly me up on the stepladder mucking with light fixtures while Mick played spotter and needing Mr Muscles to lift heavy stuff while I cleaned under it.

Messy clutter bothers me, but dirt is worse. I realized yesterday that I wouldn't use a public restroom that was as grungy as my bathroom was. Seriously. It was that gunked up and filthy. Then there were all the sideways messes like how the fridge was full of bowls of leftovers covered with tin foil. This honked me off. A) I had no bowls left, B) if a leftover is not eaten within 48 hours it's never going to be, but somehow I am the only one with the strength and talent needed to throw away food no matter how rancid or elderly it is. I've yet to figure out just which of my girl parts bestows this awesome super power upon me. Breasts? Ovaries? "Behold! It is She! The Executioner of Leftovers! And lo, the owner of the vagina, and only she, shall be granted the ability to dispose of moldy spaghetti!" And the gods rejoiced.

Heh.

Yesterday after the gym Mick and I ran a hella lot of errands. One stop was at the bicycle shop so Mick could get new riding gloves. His old pair was in tatters and new gloves were on the potential birthday gift list, but I'm glad Mick got these himself. I would not have picked out a pair that nice. Not that I'd be cheap, only because I'm not knowledgeable in the ways of cycling accessories. Anyhoodle, I waited in the car while Mick did his thing at the bike shop. The weather wasn't too, too godawful and (see above about being pooped). Across the street from where I sat there was a big stone and brick church complex for sale- church, side buildings, rectory, and a bell tower, each topped with a wonderful mission-style tiled roof. I had a nice time imagining how I'd turn the place into a cool art gallery and chi-chi coffee shop, with the rectory reserved as a house for us, of course. And imagined up a wonderful pied-a-terre atop the bell tower. After shooing out the pigeons and bats, of course, discretely screening the open arches from the inside so as not to spoil their baroque beauty and using it as an open-air get-away spot. It seemed a wonderful place to sit and sip wine and look out over the rooftops of Old Malltown, doing some canoodling with my guy and then maybe even snoozing the night away up in the sky.

Despite the pleasant diversion it seemed Mick was gone a loooooong time. He was. When he came back to the car with the new gloves he had a snootful of justified resentment too. There'd been three people in the place- Mick, the shop's owner (a known weirdo) and another customer. The other guy had just bought a very expensive bike and would NOT stop asking questions and congratulating himself for being so rich and cool. The owner and the customer both saw Mick standing there, but neither bothered to interrupt their mutual ego stroking so Mick could make his small quick purchase. In fact it seemed to Mick that the guy who'd bought the bike was deliberately stalling just to milk the experience and satisfy his need for titivating. The shop's owner could have certainly broken off to wait on Mick, giving the other customer a smile and a "Hang on, Mr Big Wallet, let me help this guy (meaning Mick, who has also dropped the big bucks there and was known to that weirdo owner as a steady customer) and then we'll talk some more about your fabulous new bike." That's just simply good manners and good business, you know?

Mick almost walked out without the gloves, but didn't want to make another trip. So he waited and waited and waited. As he was telling me the story I congratulated my usually short-fused, quick tongued man on his patience and restraint and then laughed because I knew if it had been me who'd been given the cold shoulder like that I'd have nipped it right quick. I'd have used a great deal of charm about it, but I would have inserted myself into the conversation and after congratulating the boorish guy on his purchase would have dimpled cutely and said something like, "Gosh, that is a handsome bike. You're going to be boss of the road on that bad boy for sure! I'll just let Rick (the shop's owner) ring these gloves up real fast and get out of your way so you two can get back to your conversation."

When I told Mick why I laughed and what I'd have done, he laughed with me and said I most certainly can get away with stunts like that, but he wasn't quite as cute as I am. Nor was he as…uh…diplomatic as I am.

"You mean you're not a manipulative bully who just happens to be a charming manipulative bully, eh?"

He admitted that was so. But went onto explain that if I was a bullying git, I never left a bad taste in people's mouths after I'd bent them to my will. I was the only person he'd ever met who managed to make people happy about doing my bidding. Like I'm doing them a favor by letting them wait on me. He cut me a look and said, "Baby, I've been watching you pull this crap for years now and I still can't figure out how you do it. Must be because you're adorable."

Yes, I am adorable. (Bwahahahaha!) But I am also one who WILL get her way. You can make book on that, missy.


More flies with honey than vinegar, babycakes. ~LA


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