I moved (with the man's help) my living room furniture around today. We dusted and swept everything. We rotated the rug, moved and reconnected the entertainment center and reconfigured the placement of the chairs and sofas. At least five different ways. Maybe six. Okay, eight, tops.
I tried to explain to the man where I thought everything should go. I knew what I wanted in my mind, but the space wouldn't cooperate. Now, the man knew my arrangement plan wasn't going to work. Apparently, it was "mathematically impossible." Yes, I believe air quotes were used. He tried using his outstretched arms and then a measuring tape to explain exactly why it wasn't going to work. He's a spatial magician, remember?
He's also an abnormally patient man. He wasn't looking for an I-told-you-so moment. He was simply hoping his wife would make up her insane mind so he could sit down in time to watch his football game.
After forever and a minute of insisting we try one more arrangement, I finally hung my head in defeat. Without saying a word, we put it all back. Exactly where it was hours before. Ugh.
On the bright side, (Really? A bright side? Now I'm just reaching, folks...) the benefits of this experience are two-fold. First, my living room is now properly dusted. Yes, yes it is. Second? The man can't file for divorce on a Sunday.
Pledge and Swiffers- one point. Any sense of accomplishment and three hours of my (and the man's) life- zero.
Cheers to a productive workweek, friends.