The painters arrived this week, and earlier this summer I thought their impending arrival would be a good excuse to "clean house". Well, life happens, and the house is not spotless. But as I survey the progress we did make, I am reminded of a fundamental difference between my husband's and my world views. No, it has nothing to do with stem cell research or conflict in the Middle East. We can debate about the issues in the news for hours, but when it comes down to it our opinions aren't that different. But there's one issue on which we might never see eye to eye - the definition of "dirty".
My husband's view, in the typical male fashion, is very literal. "Dirty (adj.) - covered with dirt" I know the pile of potting soil in the garage is annoying him, but why clean it up if I'm just going out there to pot more plants this weekend?
In my view, dirt is not dirty. It's a complex mixture of humus and perlite and dozens of essential minerals.
In my view, "Dirty (adj.) - strewn with litter and debris." In other worlds, the way it looks right now in our living room, like a computer puked up all over the rug. I know the individual wires, routers, and miscellaneous parts have no trace of dust. But in my mind it's "dirty".
I have "dirty" blonde hair, I like "dirty" jokes, but obviously neither has *nothing* to do with actual dirt. Language is just not that literal.
Well, in the end I must remind myself it's a small issue. The important thing is that I'm glad my husband has found lots of computer jobs recently, so we can afford to paint the house. He makes good money from taking in all those ailing computers and emptying their guts on the carpet.
I guess I'd rather sacrifice a clean house than end up dirt poor.
Ok, sorry, I just can't let it go.