I Didn't Even Get A, "Woah! Cool!"

Mike is a great roommate. I've had a few, and he is one of the cleanest and certainly the easiest to get along with. And usually when I mention something about housekeeping that I want to see done better and am seeking his support on, he's with me. He doesn't leave nasty socks balled up around the house (like my brothers), our bedroom doesn't smell like his feet (like some roommates I've had), he rinses out his dishes if he's not actually cleaning them instead (again, college roommates). Most of all, he'll clean things around the house without me always having to draw his attention to it. He sees the need, and gets it done. It was a must in the qualities I sought for in a husband.

But then every once in a while we won't be on exactly the same housekeeping page.

I have spent all day--literally, ALL DAY--cleaning the house in preparation for a big Thanksgiving trip to Saipan. I hate coming home to a dirty house and having the responsibility of unpacking, doing laundry, doing dishes, vacuuming, and dusting the moment I walk in the house. When I get home, I don't want there to be ANY housework I have to do until at least two days later. Which means when I clean before a departure, I leave no rock un-turned.

This evening I was in the kitchen re-wrapping burner drip-pans and spraying down the stove-top and wishing with all my might there were an easy way to clean the massive amount of jam under the stove-top that had boiled over the night before. There had to be something easier than trying to get at it through the burner hole. Finally, part-way through wiping down the top while I stared at the offensive jam underneath, I thought, "Wait a minute! The underside of this looks like a tray. AAAAAAND, the top looks like..." as I thought I lifted the top of the stove, burners and drip-pans removed, and it rose up like the hood of a car, with a brace underneath and all.

Oh! I was so happy! I lowered it back down and continued to wipe down the top, freely brushing things into the burner holes and onto the tray beneath.

Enter: Mike.

"Honey! Look! I just solved a problem." He came over to see, and I demonstrated the raising and lowering of the stovetop. "This raises!"

"Yeah, I know." I stared at him blankly. I turned my head and stared at the year-and-a-half's worth of crumbs and spills and grime built up beneath the stovetop. I stared straight ahead and thought to myself, I didn't even get the "WOAH! COOL! That'll make things so much easier!" that I was expecting. I looked back at him.

"If you knew, why does it look like that?" He stumbled for words for a second, probably thinking, Wait, did I promise to clean the stove? I don't think I did...I hope I didn't...


I clarified. "If you knew, why didn't you ever say anything to me so that I would know?" AH! Phew! Okay, that's what she means.


"Well, I just figured you knew also." This man has cleaned drip pans for me, which requires you remove them, and I am dumbfounded that he might not have seen the nasty build-up beneath them. Knowing me--the woman who takes everything out of the fridge and wipes the shelves down every week--how could he think I would have let it get that bad under there if I had known I could reach it?

I spent the next half hour spraying and scrubbing and rinsing out my rag. When Mike got back from running an errand, I left the kitchen and he made brinner.