Today I arrived home from work and M asked me to help him clean out the shower’s grout lines.
Now if that isn’t sexy talk than I don’t know what is.
Well then. Colour me surprised.
Anywho, I wasn’t about to say no, seeing as how he’s done such a bang up job with the overall project, but I wasn’t exactly keen on the thought of grout retraction – I had a long day (and equally long week) and I was wearing one of my favourite “spring” work outfits and I didn’t want to muck it all up.
Although my overall tip top impression of my get-up took a bit of a hit when, after remarking that he liked my hair style, M told me that I was reminding him of “you know…that character from Kids in the Hall…you know the one. The one with the ponytail.”
It’s unfortunate to say, dear readers, but I do know the one.
And it’s not good.
Not good at all.
For those of you who aren’t acquainted with Darill, please consult the below video:
Not exactly the apex of coolness.
Not exactly the look I was going for. But thanks for playing “man for whom I’ve pledged my troth for the rest of my life”!
Egads. Can’t a girl catch a break?
So after I told M that I don’t know where my self-esteem would be without such positive reinforcement on his part, I sucked up my pride, and stripped down to my unmentionables, and got down to business.
ON REMOVING THE GROUT! Get your minds out of the gutter!
Don’t think I don’t see you over there, you with your head circling that sewer drain!
Seriously though – I won’t go into much depth on the subject, but suffice to say, I absolutely love doing household chores in my undies.
Like, LOVE it.
(My neighbours I’m sure think I’m bloody bonkers, so I always close all the blinds before doing a really big clean. Then I proceed to skulk around my darkened home, brandishing cleaning supplies, vacuums, mops, and garbage bags.)
I worry that I just a couple steps away from becoming a Matthew Good music video here folks.
Anyway, I’m getting dreadfully off topic here.
What I found interesting about the process of working in the bathroom, was how just the simple, repetitive motion of removing all that clay was actually a really good exercise in winding down, and of letting the events of the week go.
Clear out the grout – clear out your head.
(I won’t lie, knowing just how stellar the finished project is going to be was also a solid motivator for not only doing the work, but doing it well.)
So now that’s it’s done, I’m able to do what I was hoping to do as soon as I arrived home – put on some of M’s old clothes, chillax to the max, and eat all the junk I bought earlier on in the day.
That’s right folks: chocolate covered marshmallows. WITH SPRINKLES!!!
As a brief postscript to this post, can I just wax eloquent (briefly I assure you) on two things?
The first is how the television show NUMBERS is so uncomprehendingly awful. And Mr. M LOVES to watch it, despite the fact that he too cannot stand anything about the program.
It’s almost as if he’s developed some crazy perverse, car crash fascination with the whole show.
I, on the other hand, I cannot understand how anyone can watch it, perversity or not. The writing is so bad it drives me absolutely batty.
But then again, I’ve been known to watch some pretty polarizing programs myself, so who am I really to judge?
Nah, I’ll still judge.
The second is that I am finally getting the chance to see one of my all-time favourite bands on Saturday night.
I’ve got a date with the Kaiser Chiefs, and I am getting my mad dance skills prepped for a night of top grooving.
The only cricket in my soup bowl is that I am going to be going solo.
Have any of you gone to a concert by yourself before? If yes, let me know, and send along any tips you may have.
I’m really not so fussed, but still a little nervous.
If it gets really bad, I’ll just show up in my underwear.
And start cleaning.