Steve and I had a fight this weekend. Okay, not a fight, maybe a tiff. Or maybe just a disagreement.
Okay, so we really can't fight. Things don't really bug me, so I have a hard time getting mad enough to raise my voice, let alone yell at my dearly beloved. And usually, when I try to be mad, I end up making myself laugh, imagining how my "mad face" must look.
So back the the fight. Basically, he thinks I'm a slob and he's right. Ahem. I am very creative in a multitude of ways. I'm doing an Aunt Sarah project, I cook, I scrapbook, I teach Sunday School. I have things strewn all over the house, food flying through the air, books lying all around.
Steven, on the other hand, is very neat and orderly. Things are put back where they belong. He's usually pretty good about cleaning up after me, but occasionally gets frustrated. Like when he picks up the same hair scrunchie eight different times in the same day.
So we discussed. And we resolved.
Let it be known that during the disagreement dated March 21st, 2009 at 2:30-ish in the afternoon, Steven did solemnly swear that he would be the keeper of the kitchen cleaning supplies and would henceforth scrub, wash, and otherwise toil in whatever means are necessary to keep his loving wife from having to do dishes upon her return home from work. Herein fail not under penalty of much nagging.
Oh, and I'll attempt to clean up after myself from time to time. Maybe.
Regarding the picture (stolen from Wikipedia, by the way) it's a spat! Get it?!