My mom gave Dan and me the coolest gift for our first anniversary: an Oreck vacuum cleaner. Really, you know you're domesticated (or on your way to it) when you get excited about a vacuum cleaner (unless you're my brother Ghent, who exhibited a fondness for Electrolux vacuum cleaners from a young age).
Seriously, after (procrastinating about) hauling our heavy, loud, dust-spewing vacuum cleaner around the house for a year, I was thrilled to see the big box from Oreck waiting at our doorstep Monday evening when I got home from work. I didn't "open the gift" until Dan got home from his meeting in Asheville. After we'd opened it and Dan was assembling it, I called my mom to say thanks.
"Dan is thrilled," I told my mom. "Now that we have an Oreck, I'll actually LIKE vacuuming, and Dan won't have to vacuum anymore!" (For a year now, I've had an inkling that Dan likes to vacuum, but he swears that he vacuums only because I don't. It's not that I don't vacuum. I just keep forgetting to, you see. I procrastinate and procrastinate until I forget I was going to do it in the first place. Just as Dan--unlike me--has an admirable tolerance for dirty dishes, I have an admirable tolerance for dirty floors.)
My mom laughed. It was one of those "that'll-be-the-day" kinds of laughs, as in "that'll be the day that Nina enjoys vacuuming." Well, ha ha ha. She knows that, even though there are some aspects of housekeeping that I don't mind (dusting, dishes, and laundry, to name a few), that I'm not much of a vacuuming enthusiast.
Dan swears he isn't, either. Right. And he only vacuums because I won't. Uh-huh. I honestly believe he enjoys vacuuming, enjoys watching the dirt disappear as the vacuum cleaner glides gracefully over the carpet, singing its heavy, whooshing, whistling song. He loves it. I know he loves it.
After my mom and I hung up and Dan finished assembling the Oreck, he and I sat to watch O'Reilly's interview with Dubya. Next, I helped him pick out a video to use for a Scouting presentation he was going to do the next morning. Finally, as it was nearing 9:00 and I had a piano lesson the next day, I stood up and said, "I'm going to practice for a few minutes."
"OK." It was fine with him. Monday Night Football was about to come on, so I essentially had the next few hours of life to myself.
A while later, with piano all practiced, I went downstairs. The floor was spotless. I went back upstairs. The floor was spotless. I went back downstairs and noticed that the stairs, too, were spotless. I headed back upstairs to kiss my wonderful clean-carpet-loving husband good-night, smiling to myself. That sweet thing couldn't help it. He loves the Oreck. He couldn't stop himself from vacuuming the whole house any more than he could stop himself from watching Monday Night Football.
"But honey," I started to tell him, "You know I was planning to vacuum."
But then I didn't say anything. He'd just give his usual story about vacuuming because I kept procrastinating about it. Heck, if he loves the Oreck and wants to vacuum while I practice piano, blissfully unaware that our carpet would otherwise become a health hazard, who am I to argue? :-)