He trips over laundry soaking in a bucket as he comes in from the garage. “Sorry dear, I left it there to remind me to put it on to wash.” He shakes the water off his sock and steps into the kitchen where I’m standing at the sink. He leans on the counter and hastily removes his hand, “oh sorry dear, I’m just leaving their paintings to dry there so that I don’t forget to pin them up before we go to bed.” He stretches past me to reach the soap but tips over the upside down bottles, “don’t tell me, you’re just trying to get the last few drops out, right?” He knows me so well.
The floor is strewn with piles, socks to match, paperwork to be completed, junior’s collection of oral desensitizers to be sterilized, backpacks to be filled, library books to be returned, each an indication of my diminished brain capacity as the years advance. He taps the sack of slug pellets with the tip of his toe, “yet another job?” “No, I did manage to get out into the garden but the sacks there to remind me to put it away somewhere safe.” “Great, so of all these things that you want to do, productivity today has been limited to the annihilation of the gastropod population!” “World peace would have been a better option.”