Last night, we finished dinner and Miles loaded our dinnerware into the dishwasher as I finished my cherry Jello¹. (as messy as the lad is on his own, I must admit that he is most conscientious of a spotless house while I am in company) He finished the task and sought my attention with his serious, piercing gaze.

"You know how you don't like dining out all of the time? You say you enjoy cooking too much?"

"mmmhmmm...?"

"And as a compromise, you proposed that we pick one night a week and either dine out or order in just that one night."

"It was just an idea—"

"And a good one! But...."

[quizzical Laura look, perhaps an eyebrow raise for good measure]

"I'd rather not eat out at all now that your cooking skills are back in our home."

Now, as my broken body recovers from my cleaning onslaught, I am remembering his comment instead of his Laura-absence-participation in the Clean And Sparkling Home Formally Known As The Dump.

He's a wily guy, all right. On Sunday, after my dismayed look at his landfill-esque car, he muttered, properly ashamed, "You are the organization of my life." And all of the women's lib went flying out the window as I gushed internally, "He needs me!"

♪ We're playing those mind games together
Pushing the barriers, planting seeds  ♪

John Lennon was probably good at manipulating his spouse(s) too.

¹Really, can anyone say, think, write, or type "Jello" without hearing that singsong, "Jay, Eey, Ell, Ell, Oh!"? Gooooood job on the marketing there, boys. It's got a beat and I can spell to it—I was spelling "jello" before I even knew the alphabet!