I sidled up to my husband and whispered provocatively in his ear, â€œHoney, how about you and me getting our crazy on?â€ He nodded with interest. â€œOkay,â€ I continued, â€œIâ€™ll start by washing the inside windows and then Iâ€™ll catch up with you as you wash the outside windows.â€ His interest shrank like cold water applied to certain favorite male anatomical parts.
Each fall I start my litany of chore requests before the snow falls. Window and screen washing are on the top of the list because I want to actually see what little Minnesota daylight we do get in the winter months.
My husband knows the ladder dragging, bucket balancing, chore is coming, but puts it off as long as possible.
On Saturday we did the deed. Yep. THE deed. As with most things in our life, we approach window washing from very different directions. Iâ€™m a squirt-wipe-squeegee person, and my husband is a squirt -wipe- rag person. I hold my tongue as he dangles from a crooked ladder (â€œIâ€™ll be fine!â€), and he holds his tongue as I point out missed smudges (a little to the left, more, more. Okay, now it’s worse.). Itâ€™s a dance, and one in which I couldnâ€™t ask for a better partner.
This morning the sun barely made a visit, but I grinned as I noted the clean windows. I know it wonâ€™t lastâ€¦after all, grit happensâ€¦but for now it is the best part of my day.