I was just up in the lunchroom chatting with a co-worker when the co-worker asked me what my weekend plans were. I started to get very excited and share until I realized what was about to come out of my mouth. Yes, I know, sometimes I am able to think before I speak. Shocking, I know. Anyway, I was about to animatedly describe to my co-worker about how excited I was to try out a new floor polish I bought last weekend. Yes, it’s called Murphy’s Oil Soap and I’m excited to see what it can do for my wood floors.
Before you judge me, know this: I have an 11-week old puppy who is not kind to my wood floors. When he drinks water he forgets to swallow and as such leaves little puddles all around his water bowl. In addition to this, sometimes he licks the wood floors just for kicks. Yes, sounds very cute until your floor starts to look like it has cataracts. ANYWAY, moving on…
So, as soon as I realized that the highlight of my weekend was looking to be mopping the floor I really had to think. So this is my life now? Back in the day, I might have been excited about going to a movie, going shopping, sleeping in, giving myself a pedicure. Cleaning was never on my list of “Things I’m Excited to do This Weekend”. Who is this mopping aficionado and what has she done with my old self?
And then I realized: Even after reflecting on this change, I’m still excited about mopping my floor. I want to be embarrassed about my lack of cool-ness, but I’m just plain not. Also, before you construe the title of this post as an indictment against my husband know this: I think my newfound joy in cleaning floors has more to do with being a homeowner than with being married. The two states of being happened at the same time so it’s just hard to know which influence is responsible, or perhaps even if it’s a confluence. Those of you who know Wes know that, while he enjoys a clean floor, he would never insist upon one.