My lovely wife writes for several local publications. The editor of one assigned her a new story, one that made me jump for joy and go into sarcastic-husband mode all at once.
The assignment is for my wife to hook up with a professional organizer. The organizer would proceed to invade my wife's office and get her life organized. My wife would, in return, write a story about the experience.
My first thought was to ask if the magazine editor had a secret webcam pointed at my lovely wife's desk. How else could the editor know what a perfect candidate she was? That one didn't quite get me a slap across the face, but it did get me a "bite me" and a nasty look.
I've long ago accepted the fact that my lovely wife is the yin to my anal-retentive yang. If we had geeky organizational nicknames, they would be "file" and "pile". I file everything. She performs this precarious balancing act of paper, books, and other materials upon various strategic corners of the desk, floor, and any other flat surface. Once a month or so I go on a tear and clean things up, after which she berates me for throwing something important out. But don't get me wrong...I'm not perfect either. I cannot follow a schedule, remember an important date, or do basic math, whereas she can tell me exactly how many hours are available between Friday at 5pm and Monday at 8am and how few of the items I've put on our list for the weekend could possibly happen without disrupting the space-time continuum and creating a wormhole in our cul-de-sac. In a sense, we complete each other.
Needless to say, I am looking forward to this project. It involves cleaning, filing, and possibly the construction of one or more shelves. This should be quite an experience.
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