My Mondays

Mondays are generally cleaning days in our house. The only reason for this is because I'm a firm believer that weekends are for enjoying and I do not (repeat, DO NOT) enjoy cleaning. Mondays are the day that I recover from the weekend and try as hard as I can to cover up the fact that over the previous two days we had a great time. There are a few things in the "cleaning genre" (the definition of "genre" being: a kind of artistic work; so technically, I can pair it with cleaning) that I am particularly fond of.

The first is the fact that my husband stands over 6' 2'' tall. You might be wondering what this has to do with cleaning. Well, since he is so tall, his eyes are farther from the floor than mine are (by over a foot) so I assume he can't see what's on the floor as well as I can, thus making it possible for me to stretch the times between mopping farther apart. The second thing (in the cleaning genre) that I am fond of is the fact that my husband doesn't judge me when I look at the huge pile of laundry then walk away from it, heading straight to the store to buy him a pair of jeans instead of seperating out the laundry into darks/whites/towels/denim and being organized enough to know that I can have the denim section done by morning, like I probably should. Seriously though, isn't that why there's a "cold" option? For those of us who choose to just toss everything in together and call it good?

Because Mondays are cleaning days, they generally are not my favorite day. However, it is only because Mondays are cleaning days that I get to enjoy my clean, picked up, sparkling house on Monday evenings. With my husband. In his new jeans.