He Said She Said - Dinner Party Prep

 

They were parking the car in front of the house.

"So," he said.  "We've done the grocery shopping, we've planned the menu.  It's 2pm.  We still have to clean the house, I have to start the cooking and we have to walk the dogs so they'll be tired enough tonight to not drive our guests insane."

"Agreed," she said.

"Right," he said.  "You walk the dogs and I'll clean the house and start the cooking."

"Deal!" she said.

They went in, unpacked the groceries and had a sandwich for lunch.

"OK," she said, "I'm walking the dogs."

"Both of them?"

"Sure."

"You're a braver man then me," he said.

"I'm not a man, but I won't dispute the rest of that," she said.

 Ten minutes later, she was back.

"This isn't working," she said, sending one of the dogs into the house.

Forty minutes later, she returned and swapped the dogs over.  The vacuum cleaner was out, and the beef was roasting in the oven.

"Next!" she said, disappearing out the door with dog number 2.

Another half hour later, she got home, sighing with exhaustion.  The puppy still wasn't controllable on a leash.

"You won't fucking believe this," she said.  "I threw a stick for her in the park and - what are the odds? - the stick fell vertically into the mud and stuck up like a spike, and she went for it and it scraped the back of her throat.  She vomited.  We have to check that she's OK."

They spent the next ten minutes wrestling with the puppy, trying to see the back of her throat.  There was a dark pink scrape, but it didn't seem to be bleeding.

Crisis over, she started to lay the table, finding a tablecloth and opening the new pack of linen napkins.

"Uh, Honey?" she called.

"What?" he said, walking into the dining room.

"Don't you think that we should take these clothes drying on the radiator away?"

"Oh, yeah," he said.  "Our guests probably don't want to see our laundry, even if it is clean."

He took the clothes away.

They kept preparing in silence, until...

"Uh, Honey?" she called.

"What?" he said walking into the lounge.

"I've moved the armchair because there are going to be six people, and the floor behind it is hairball central."

"But I swiffer dusted there!" he said.

He stomped off to get the handheld vacuum, and sucked up enough hair to make a new puppy ear.

More preparations, clanging in the kitchen, wine glasses laid out on the table.

He walked to the bathroom to take a leak, only to find her frantically scrubbing the basin.

"I need to pee," he said.

"Too bad," she snapped, turning the tap on to wash the cleaning fluid away.

"I just hadn't got to the bathroom yet," he said, sighing.

"Honey," she snapped, "the bathroom is VITAL to clean when you have people over.  It's the only time during the evening that they are alone and can actually look at your house.  It's like seeing the bathroom in a restaurant.  If you see a speck of dirt you start to wonder how clean the kitchen is and get nervous about eating your food."

"I never think that," he said.

"Well I DO!" she yelled.  "And I'm the one who gets judged when our guests see dog hairs and dirt in that little space behind the toilet seat!"

"I cooked AND cleaned!" he yelled back.

And so it began.

A game that started years ago in the marriage.

The "How many things did you do vs. how many things I did" game.

It went on for about five minutes.

They were saved by the bell - a reminder peep from the oven, calling him in to check the beef.

She finished cleaning, watched her hands, and walked into the kitchen.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"What?" he said, leaning closer, craning his left ear towards her mouth.

"I said I was blefigilmil," she said.

"Well I'm blefigilmil too," he smiled.

"Would you like a glass of wine while you finish cooking?" she asked.  It was a peace offering.

They hugged, they sipped some wine, and everything was OK again.

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