The Polish painter

This morning after I was dressed and ready for work, I walked by my bedroom and noticed that the bed had been made. I asked my wife Julie what that was all about, since I hadn't made it and she almost never does. She replied that she had done it because the Polish house painter was coming by. Since he might peek inside the bedroom, no need to have him think that we are slobs.

My wife and I have had arguments over the years about making the bed. I like having it made, she thinks it's a waste of energy. I get my passive/aggressive revenge sometimes because of this issue. (My wife says that most of what I do to annoy her is because of my passive aggressiveness.) The revenge comes in the form of a top sheet that my wife likes to have on the bed.

Our use of a top sheet is rare, but on the occasion when my wife puts one on the bed, it is nice going to bed for the first night or two. The bed is made like you'd find in a hotel, with freshly laundered sheets and pillow cases, and made up as if the maid had just been there. But, after a nite or two, the top sheet usually becomes balled up somewhere under the covers. When the next evening comes and I climb into bed and slip under the covers, the balled-up top sheet is cramping the space for my feet. "What the hell is this?" I grouse. "It's the top sheet," my wife replies. "Just reach down and pull it up."

But I don't like to do that. I like to come into my bedroom and get into bed and then have no responsibility. All I want to do is read, watch TV, or go to sleep. Having to deal with the balled-up top sheet is too much like work.

Ultimately, what happens after a few nights of this grousing is that I awaken in the morning and decide to make the bed, and without the top sheet on it. So I take the top sheet and throw it to the floor and jam it under the bed. Then I finish making the bed.

Usually it takes my wife a few nights to notice. "Hey, where's the top sheet?" she asks. I tell her it's under the bed, and then she gets angry and accuses me of passive aggressiveness.

But I tell her that all she has to do to rectify the situation is to make the bed in the morning. That never happens, of course, which is why the top sheet remained under the bed the last time that I looked.

You are probably wondering how the Polish painter fits in here. The other day my oldest daughter Faith announced that she wanted her bedroom painted a new color. The color she picked is blue/green, offputting at first, but attractive when it's on the walls.

Someone had given my wife the name of the Polish painter and said that he does good work at a cheap price. So the guy was hired and he came over while I was at work and he did a good job on my daughter's bedroom.

Now, all of a sudden, my wife has announced that she wants the basement painted, and the kitchen, and some exterior woodwork by one of our large bay windows. The Polish painter has been hired for the job.

So today comes, and the bed is made, and the doorbell rings, and there at the front door is the Polish painter. He is a 30ish guy, tall, lean, dark curly hair, and he has that Eastern European accent when he speaks English.

My mother-in-law, who is omnipresent in our lives, leans over and says to me, "Wow, Julie never said anything about how good looking he is."

But as I figure it, I have been married to my wife for 13 years and have been with her for more than 15 years. If the result of this is that the bed gets made every day while I am at work, the Polish painter can come over all he wants.