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The Art of Guilt


Well, after two days of moaning quietly to myself on the couch battling some illness or other, I finally got up this morning.

Folded up the blanket that surrounded me for two days, lovingly patting it for all it's comfort and support and tossed it into the washing machine before making my way upstairs.

As I stepped through the entranceway into the kitchen, I was stopped short.

Every cupboard door was wide open. Like arms reaching out for me. Not one dish was in the glasses/plates area. Nor was there any silverware at all in the bin. The fridge door seemed to be ajar and upon my intial glance, quite empty.

The dogfood dish was empty. At least the dishes were stacked, every single one we owned in fact. Something orange was growing mold on the eastside corner of the new tile and I'm pretty sure if I wasn't so fearful of a closer look, there was an offering to the floor Gods of some kind of meat in the other corner.

The garbage was overflowing with empty bean cans, hotdog wrappings, fruit loops boxes and gingerale tins.

Strangely enough, upon inspection of the demons bedrooms, they looked completely untouched. My curiousity was satisfied when I peer into *my* bedroom, to find their pillows mingled with the bedding, knowing they all had campouts while I was downstairs.

Forging past all this, I manage to make my way into the
bathroom. Towels strewn here and there, the tap in the bath not quite turned all the way off. And I'm beginning to think nobody flushed in two days. Calmly I turn the shower on, get in and sigh deeply feeling the heat cascade over my aching, still slightly ill body. Gingerly avoiding placing my feet near mud that was once outside but is now in small piles in my bath.

Calmly I wrap a clean towel around me and begin cleaning
what used to be a very nice bathroom. Flushing, rinsing,
scrubbing, sweeping, deoderizing, sandblasting, fumigating,
and washing mirrors.

Then moving to the kitchen to sweep, scrub, re-tile, scrap
unknown orange goo, wash dishes and floors, sanitize and burn about 12 sticks of incense.

I collect 23 loads of laundry and start the washing machine.
I straighen up my bedroom. I vaccum the living room, putting furniture back where it belongs, turning off all three televisions throughout the house, along with every single light that has been left burning, probably for two days.

Still wrapped only in the towel, after an hour and half of cleaning, I collapse in a chair in the living room.

Mr Happy comes home to pick up some materials for a job, steps into the kitchen, wearing his boots and halts halfway through, goes back and kicks them off in the hallway, trying desperately to wipe away the size 11 footprints before I see them.

He steps into the living room and sees me sitting there, tired, out of strength and now pretty cold in just a stupid towel.

"Hey... Dave? How are you feeling?"

I just look at him.

"Um... the house looks really nice. I was going to get the boys to help me tidy up tonight, you didn't have to do this."

He struggles.
I stare.
He shifts uncomfortably.

"We stacked the dishes"

He swallows nervously.
I yawn.

"I heard the washing machine end when I came in, what I should put some stuff in the dryer for you?"

He tries.
I blink and examine my nails.

"You mad at me?"

I look up from my seated position.

"Have you been wearing my clothes? I can't find my jeans, and all my sweatshirts are missing from my drawer."

He looks away. He opens his coat to reveal my best sweatshirt.

"I'm sorry, mine were all dirty"

I nod.

"Um. Can I get you anything?"

"Give me my damn sweatshirt."

He blinks, removes his coat and takes off the shirt, handing
it to me. He still has a tshirt from under it.

I can't believe he did that. But of course, I take it, throw off the towel and quickly put it on, his body heat and the glorious scent of Drakkar still on it. I sit back down and pull it over my knees to get warm.

He sees my attitude warming simply because of that blasted Drakkar. Damn him anyways. He steps closer, feeling encouraged.

"Want some coffee?"

"No." I sulk.

He moves right beside my chair and gets down on the floor
in front of me, putting his hands on my shoulders. Damn he smells good.

"Want me to find your jeans?"

"No." I pout.

He sighs, I see the wheels turning in his head and look away.

"We don't do very well when you're not up and around to take care of us you know. Three struggling men without a leg to stand on without you"

He's reaching, but is actually doing quite well. I look at him, encouraging him to continue.

"Um...yes... and when you're sick, which isn't very often, we sorta of ..... um.... we're lost, yeah that's it. And all we want is for you to get better!"

I tilt my head to the side a little, a small smile begins to
twitch at the corners of my mouth.

He's more than encouraged now, shifts his posture a little
more, his hands smoothing up and down my arms. Not only am I enjoying this, but it's warming me up to him. It's been two days, after all.

"I'm so glad you're up. You look much better. I'm sorry about the mess, really. I'd like to make it up to you" His hands massage at my shoulders.

My smile begins in earnest.

"How about something special for dinner tonight?"

He smiles that killer, dimpled sexy smile of his.
I smile broadly in return. Thinking "RED LOBSTER!!!"

"I'll take a roast out of the freezer for you. I should be home by around 6pm if you could have it ready by then, ok?"

The smile disappears.
I stiffen in his arms.
Shame really, he was doing so well.

He instantly realizes his mistake.

"Wait! No .... ack! Uhhhhh would you prefer going out?"

I get up from the chair... he follows me, hands outstretched..

"Wait Dave... we.. uh... we could go anywhere you want... I could bring dinner home... ack!"

I walk to the bedroom in search of my jeans. Shaking my

"Stop! Argh... !!!!"

I find them, and slip them on, looking around for some socks. Trying to ignore him.


I stop and look at him.


He grasps for words.
I see the pathetic hope written all over
his face, the tension knotting inside him.

"I should have helped more?"

I sigh...


"You're a Goddess???"

Works every time. Lay on enough guilt and not only do you get the shirt off someone's back, you get taken out for dinner and are proclaimed a Goddess.

I haven't lost my touch.
Now... to work on the demons.
I might actually get three days of spotless bedroom cleaning, no complaining and some damn good "you're the best mom in the world" comments.

I'm evil.

I love it.

 T O P

M O R E from D A V E


Unless otherwise specified, all material Copyright 2000 by Dave



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