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A Copywriter’s Blog

As I’ve mentioned before, The Wife and I have been known to approach situations differently.

For example, when I moved into a room in college, I set up the bed and the internet. Everything else was optional, and was unpacked as it was needed. This meant that when the time came to move back home for the summer, there was usually a box or two loaded into the car that had never been unpacked.

The first time The Wife and I moved into a place together, I followed standard procedure. Assembled the bedframe, set up my computer in a tangle of cords and egg-crates, and proceeded to surf the web.

At this point, the reader is free to imagine The Wife standing there, clearing her throat meaningfully and tapping one foot, arms folded.

Three days later the entire place was unpacked, organized, and decorated. A mere 72 hours after getting the keys the only thing left to do was find complementary dishtowels.

I tell you all this to explain what happened our second day in the new apartment. We moved before our furniture did, so we’re currently sleeping on an air mattress, and I got the cable hooked up so that I can post this while sitting on the floor.

The Wife is working nights these days. This means she works a 12-14 hour shift, followed by an hour or more commute home, where she attempts to sleep for 8 hours before getting up, eating something, and driving another hour or more to start the next 12-14 hour shift.

You’ll not nowhere in there is there time for, well, anything. Work, drive, sleep, drive work. Repeat.

Which means there’s only one possible explanation for how, when I came home Monday night, twelve hours after we’d moved into the new apartment, the entire bathroom, fridge, and pantry were organized.

The Wife can bend space-time.

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The stench of failure Ben Levy 12, April

The Wife and I have a simple agreement: she does the cooking, I do the dishes. Since we have a dishwasher, I feel I got the better end of the deal, but don’t tell her that.

Most of the time this works out perfectly well. I come home, dinner’s ready, we eat it, I procrastinate, then do dishes around midnight. But I’ve been really busy at work lately, and even busier at home, and I’ve been putting off the cleaning. Just a quick rinse, some stacking, and leave water in the pots to soak.

So today, out of sheer necessity, I skipped my morning workout and did the dishes. Which apparently haven’t been cleaned since Sunday, based on the amount and nature of the organic compost collected in the sink trap.

I thought my alarm was offensive. G-d help us if I ever have to wake up to the odor of 5 day old ricotta cheese trapped in my drain again.

Editor’s Note: This post was actually written April 2nd, but it’s taken me this long to post it. I have, however, cleaned the kitchen extensively at least three times since then.

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