The weekend before Christmas, I asked everyone to help me scrub a layer of dust and dog hair off of everything in the house. Let me be more specific. My exact words were, “I need everyone to help clean the house this weekend. We have company coming over and there is dog hair and dust everywhere.”
Apparently, what they heard was, ‘Mom wants something done around here.’ Their application of this interpretation was to spend the December weekend putting out grass seed and aerating our very large lot.
The aerating machine completely covered the yard in giant dirt plugs. The short bus dog believed those dirt plugs were snacks from the cat and spent an entire day trying to eat all the dirt plugs. I don’t know if the dog forgot that it tasted like dirt after each and every bite or if she was eternally optimistic that the next one would taste like something other than dirt. I only know that I am a sympathetic puker and the mere thought of the dog barfing up mud puddles made my stomach hurt.
A few days later, it was the evening before Doug’s parents arrived and I repeated my request for help with the cleaning. Let be more specific. I said, “Please help me scrub the floors.” I have no idea what anyone actually heard. Their response was to completely empty the bathroom contents all over the living room floor and start working on the floor trim that has been ignored since last January. They weren’t making the bathroom sink functional. They were putting a row of tile on the walls.
It’s impossible to get upset with well-intentioned efforts, but if eye-rolling created muscles, I would be able to see the craters on the moon without a telescope.