In This House
The Scene: Evening. Dinner bubbling on the stove just about ready to go on plates. I’m finishing up the food, The Boy is setting the table.
The Boy: “Darling?” (Except he didn’t really say darling, but I’m not telling anyone what he did say, as the pet names of a household really should remain private.)
Me: “Yes my love?”
The Boy: “Did you know there is a large piece of driftwood on the table?”
Me: “Yes indeed.”
The Boy: “I see. Um. Why is there a large piece of driftwood on the table?”
Me: “To prop up a sock for a picture.”
The Boy: “Ah of course. In this house that makes perfect sense.”
Me: “Yes, yes it does. You do know I’m telling the internets about this, don’t you?”
The Boy: “Happy to do my part.”
Proof positive that it really takes a special kind of man to be married to a fiber geek. Namely, one who is very patient and tolerant of clutter.
And besides, isn’t that the piece of driftwood which you brought all the way from Nova Scotia?
It’s not clutter. It’s landscape. Or art. Or atmosphere. And it’s well-travelled.
Oddly enough, this one happens to be the chunk I brought back from Washington. Apparently I’m fond of beach theft. Bi-coastal beach theft.