It was a typical Saturday morning, which meant that I slept in to about noon, while my wife waited for me to wake up, being already up for over two hours herself. As always it took us (me) a while to truly get out of bed and moving to start the day. Our routine pretty much conforms to my laziness levels, the lazier I am, the less we do since I am the one who usually drives us around the area, and how late I sleep in dictates how many hours of daylight we have before stores start to close.
That day was like any other, I got up, lumbered out to the living room and threw myself on the couch with the dog hopping up to hang out with me hoping I was willing to play with him now that I was up. After playing fetch with one of the toys he decided to bring me for a bit, I grabbed something to drink and settled into my corner to read the news and the newest releases of the comics I was tracking. The wife as always was busy busy busy, she never runs out of energy and like every weekend was settling her personal cleaning peeves.
She and I have different standards of cleanliness around the house. I am willing to do what she asks, hang things where she wants, put clothes in the hamper, not on the floor, dishes in the dish washer, throw out trash in the correct bins etc. I do NOT particularly care if things are out of order, or if things are not aligned around the house, my wife does... We have come to an agreement that I will do my best not to make a mess, and she will do whatever is left over to get the house to the state that she needs it to be at. To an outsider looking in, they would probably think of it as a daily reset, each morning you wake to the house looking almost no different to the previous morning regardless of the daily disorganization that takes place naturally. I use to think of it as a twilight zone experience, but I have come to accept it as the norm that is my life.
While I could rarely dissuade my wife to not do her wanted, not needed, cleaning routines I COULD do other things for her like take the dog down to go to the bathroom so that she did not have to climb two flights of stairs down and up while eight months pregnant... So after I felt awake enough to get off my slice of heaven that is my couch corner, I threw on some clothes and dressed the dog into his harness to take him outside. Like always he was all too willing to get outside, trying to race down the stairs to be the first to the door, seemingly as though thinking that the scenery outside was going to be drastically different than the day before and it desperately needing his attention. After opening the door to let him out he did his normal business, at the same paint drying pace as always, making sure to find the perfect place on the correct lot of land for that days business.
Watching him try to do this you would think that each day had its own different location that could not overlap with any of the other day's special locations. It was like he completely forgot his favorite spot to go daily and had to re-convince himself that this was, indeed his normal location to do his business. Heaven forbid if he saw another person or dog which caused him to immediately forget everything he was doing and had been doing for the next fifteen minutes until he was once again convinced that he and I were the only ones left on the planet so that he could do his business in peace.