I'm a big fan of the new year, have much fondness for the idea of starting off fresh.
But someone wrote on my clean slate.
And I'm pretty sure they used permanent marker.
"Taking you down to one arm could be God's way of making you rest," my husband said while ferrying me to work. My driving rights have been relinquished until my dislocated elbow has mended. (Or Geoff stops hiding my keys.)
"You've been going full throttle for months," he continued. "If you try that now, your arm's never going to heal right."
"But it's hard to relax when everywhere I look, there's stuff that needs done," I said. "Stuff that's not going away just because I'm down to one wing."
"So what? Let it build," said my man. "Instead of sweeping this week and next week and next, let it accumulate and then just sweep it once. If you ask me, that actually seems more efficient."
I suspect most men (and all 11-year-olds) are blessed with dirt filters that prevent them from being repulsed by nasty floors.
"It's gotten so bad the dogs have started wearing shoes in the house," I argued. "I thought Murry was being especially lazy. He was just stuck to the linoleum."
"You're making it sound worse than it is, and harder than it needs to be," said Geoff. "We still have your dad's power washer in the garage."
I saw a gleam in his eye.
"Don't even think about it."