Thursday, January 29, 2009

Bossy Betty's Gettin' Jiggy With All Things Domestic

There are certain issues that every couple must confront as they progress through the years. Religion, child-rearing techniques, money issues--around our house these pale in comparison to the dishcloth versus sponge debate that is now raging at our house.

Being the submissive, demure wife for so many years, hasn't been easy, especially for a gal with Betty's spunk factor, but I knew HOB was a sponge man when I married him and for the sake of the kids, I decided to put my own needs second. Year after year, I stood at that sink, sponge in hand and tried to convince myself that it was OK, that I could live this way. I did it for my marriage and for my children. Oh, I was good. The children witnessed me wringing out that sponge and thought it was all about the excess water, but I knew that fist was saying so much more.

Then, one day about a month ago, after a lunch consisting of Diet Pepsi and Mounds Bars, I found myself in Target, in the kitchen aisle. They spoke to me from the shelf--green and white, soft and supple--a stack of dishcloths, all tied up in a ribbon. I picked them up and smelled them deeply. (Try that with a sponge!)  I knew I had to have them.

At home, I unwrapped one of my little beauties and took one to the sink. The warm water made the lovely cloth mold itself to my hands. Ecstasy! I looked at the squat green sponge staring at me from its place on the sink ledge like a a scorned frog but I ignored it and went on with my inaugural washing.

I knew I couldn't go back to that sponge.

So now we have both at our kitchen sink. I think it's pretty big of me to let the sponge stay, actually. HOB hates that dishcloth with a passion. He sees it as an unwelcome, unnecessary  blob of spit wad from the gods of housecleaning. To him, it is a relic and should not be in a modern kitchen. He's on the high speed train of home cleaning/upkeep accessories and shakes his head at the fact that his wife is in that Pretty Little Surrey with the Fringe on the Top. He watches me hang out the laundry, but it's the dryer he prefers. The smell of vinegar as a cleaning agent drives him up the wall, but Glass Plus is the Blueberry Muffin of cleaning smells to him.

Maybe I should wait to tell him I am thinking of ordering a solar oven.

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