Saturday, November 10, 2007

Mr. Clean


Men can be the complete opposite of women. The way they think, their ability to emotionally detach themselves in order to think clearly, their responses to situations, their ability to get ready for a big event in seven minutes flat. Okay, the last one is not true for all men, but most.

On Friday, girls from my new (temporary) job invited me to “happy hour” at a place a few blocks away from both our work and my apartment. A girlfriend and I walked to my place to continue with the night’s festivities after happy hour ended. I called to forewarn my husband of our impending arrival. He mentioned that he would straighten up the apartment. Ahhh, I remembered. Half of my closet was strewn around our one room. I couldn’t find the “right” outfit for work – “Friday casual” yet professional with a hint of trendy. Not easy for a girl on a tight budget. How thoughtful of my husband to “clean” the apartment.

We arrived fifteen minutes later after seven blocks, two avenues, and one picture with fully dressed NYC firemen at the 76th Street firehouse. The apartment looked, um, great? Let me preface that statement with “the apartment looked great by guy standards.” My work clothes? Stacked in a wrinkled pile and covered by a dry-clean only sweater on the coffee table. He thought the sweater would convince our guest that it was magically suspended above a clean coffee table. My shoes? Stuffed under the dusty couch. My makeup? Shoved into a bathroom counter corner. His half-filled suitcase from Wednesday? Pushed in front of the sink. The apartment wasn’t as much cleaned as it was simply rearranged.

I, of course, would have hung the clothes in the closet, hidden the makeup, 409ed the countertop, straightened the stack of magazines, took out the trash, adjusted the mirror on the wall, thrown cookies in the oven, and sprayed a room deodorizer that left a faint, yet pleasant, scent of “Suddenly Cinnamon” or “Hawaiian Tropic Breeze”. We entered. My husband stood in the middle of the apartment with his arms open and gestured for me to recognize his work as if to say, “Look at my masterpiece.” Men, they honestly have no clue sometimes.

3 comments:

Dame Wendy said...

I couldn't agree more. There are times when I'll go to put clothes in our dryer and find it full from a load my boyfriend had done days before because "doing the laundry" to him misses the whole "folding and putting it away" part. Or I'll find socks stashed under furniture. Boys! :)

Indiana girl said...

Just got a good laugh off your blog. So true and so funny!
Also loved that you got a photo op with one of the Hottie-bo-body NY firemen. :] They are quite the lookers ;]

Anonymous said...

I totally know what you are talking about--there is some kind of gene in men which makes them throw trash on the floor and accidentally put dirty socks on the kitchen counter! Are they all in on this or is it a subtle manipulation to get us to do all the work?!