If my husband were to clean the house, he would be finished in two hours, and it would look like it had been cleaned. I, on the other hand, could work on it all day and you wouldn’t know I’d touched a thing. That’s because every time I start, I find a drawer or a closet or a pantry that seems cluttered, and I have to run to Target immediately to remedy the situation. I can’t stand clutter. Surely Target will have some container or closet organizer, or drawer divider that would make things better.
After the trip to Target, I need to spend time sorting things, making a pile to go to Salvation Army, which naturally leads me to go through all the closets for more things for Salvation Army, and don’t you know it, my cabinet with all the plastic wraps and foils is a mess, and now that I think of it, my spices keep falling out of the cupboard every time I open the door, and doesn’t Target have a turntable that would solve that problem?
When my husband comes home and looks around, he scratches his head and thinks, “I thought she said she was going to clean the house today,” but he doesn’t voice this because he is one heck of a smart guy. Eventually, though, he sees what I’ve been up to when he opens a drawer and things don’t fall out, or he walks into our bedroom closet and he sees all the shoes sitting neatly on a shoe shelf instead of scattered across the closet floor. “Been to Target?” He know me well.
I thought about the difference between men and women last night when one of my sons called me. I had sent him a text yesterday morning, asking him if he could use a file cabinet I didn’t want anymore. “Thanks, Mom, but I don’t think we really need one.” The gasp in the background was loud and clear as my daughter-in-law said, “Yes, we want a file cabinet! We have stacks of papers all over the place. A file cabinet would be great!” A girl after my own heart. My son got back on the phone. “Yes, Mom, apparently we do need that file cabinet.” A woman knows.