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| The human male in his natural habitat |
There was a time when Nancy left on a business trip, the house would immediately sink into a veritable swamp of untidiness and squalor.
On the day of her return, I'd be scurrying around frantically, picking dirty clothes from the floor, clearing the counters of grease-coated skillets, and chasing rats and vermin with a broomstick from overturned garbage strewn about the kitchen. Now, while the house still has a tendency to sink somewhat into Squalor when Nancy is out of town, it doesn't sink all the way. It sinks but is not submerged. There may be the odd sock here and there on the floor, and a grease encrusted skillet on the counter, garbage is strewn but lightly, and what rats and vermin there are, are abashed - they have not made themselves at home - and depart willingly, with a minimum of prompting.
As I say, I am so-o-o much better than I used to be.
If I am representative of the male gender, I fully believe that were women to disappear from the planet, we would be living in caves and picking lice off each other within a week.
I cannot explain this phenomenon. I am not talking about an extended business trip, when she's say, explaining spreadsheets to the aborigines of Papua New Guinea, and will be gone for months. I'm talking about a couple of days. It takes only that short time for socks to appear uncollected on the floor, and rats and vermin to eye the garbage with an eye toward strewing it about the floor.
Then, hours before Nancy's return, something occurs in my visual cortex. Suddenly I see the house as Nancy will see it. The sight is not a pleasant one.
Thank you, Nancy, than you, thank yo. I love you. I know you are all that stands between me, the cave, and lice-picking. I'll straighten up before you get home. And I am already so-o-o much better.
