Why is it men don't say what they really mean?
The morning started off so nicely. Both hubby and I do consulting so we have a fair bit of flexibility. We decided at the spur of the moment to honour the sunshine so we dusted off the cobwebs from the bicycles and took them out for a short ride through town.
We got back just in time for lunch -- leeks and fennel from the veg box mixed with some crispy pancetta, a splash of cream and linguine -- and we ate alfresco, with only the tweep tweeps of the baby birds keeping us company.
"I'll clean up honey, you relax" hubby offered as I took my last bite. Not waiting for a response, he picked up HIS plate and got up to go into the kitchen.
What he should have said was:"I'll put the glasses and plates in the dishwasher and leave the hard items -- such as the pots with pasta plastered to them -- to you. I'll leave the stove as well, because this sponge is too dirty and I don't know where the new ones are and oh, I won't sweep the floors as I don't mind the crunchy bits, hope that's OK."
Arrrgggggggghhh!
I guess it's the thought that counts.
Photo credit: gregoryjameswalsh
