Glazed eyes

Rick's eyes glazed over as I tried to explain that

1. I needed the bag to put the tree decorations in.
2. The tree needed to be down before I could wash the floor.
3. I didn't want to take a shower before washing the floor.
4. I was showering later because we were eating out before my doctor's appointment and I wanted to be as clean as possible.

I don't get out of bed in the morning without a plan in order about showering, dressing, getting breakfast and my to do list firmly planted in my head. It's not just a plan. It's a map, but not carved in stone. If I'm in the shower and he says, "Want breakfast at La Noistte?" my plans for porridge with blueberries, cinnamon and bananas in the grey two-handled bowl along with the tangerine, tea and cranberry juice carried to the living room on my Bayeux tapestry can be put aside.

Thus we decided to wait until tomorrow to take down the tree and wash the floor.

He gets the same glazed look when I explain about undressing by the hamper or never putting a dish in the sink because it saves the extra step of putting them where they will end up. If I walk by something that belongs in the room I am heading, I take it and put it away.

He says he still loves me. I suspect he does because he pointed out some of the things he does. It is a good thing neither of us is perfect and even better that we have a sense of humor.

He said last night "I amused him." hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm