It’s Sunday morning, it’s not all that warm (yet) but oh so super sticky. I hate air conditioning because it gives me the most awful headache, and with closed windows I feel like I can’t breathe. Despite having lived in the Caribbean (through no choice of my own) I simply don’t understand why people would willingly submit themselves to this torture of heat, humidity and air conditioning for the major part of the year.

I have often spoken about my husband’s dedication to routine. He denies it but any deviation from his self-constructed, strict routine makes him irritable and grumpy. You have no idea the negative impact this has on my life, no idea. He doesn’t mind being one of the living dead, me- I am constantly aware that I am just sitting here waiting to die.  Our lives are defined by his schedule of naps and lunch and his resistance to anything that even remotely resembles movement.

For years (and years) we always did the major housework on Sundays – Sunday morning to be exact. I can make sense of this when we both worked the usual Monday-Friday, 9-5 but since retiring (yes, he works, part-time, from home) it doesn’t matter what day we do anything.  My husband’s contribution to the housekeeping is a major vacuuming once a week – wherein he moves most of the furniture and spends and hour and a half vacuuming a 1116 square foot apartment. That’s pretty much it. He does feed the cats and he will empty and wash the litter box once a week (he never scoops). Every other day he will take out the trash (there’s just the two us, we don’t make much trash) which means he walks 15 steps to the end of the hall, turns left, walks another 15 steps to the trash room. And even with that little effort I have to remind him to do it. I could easily do it myself, and sometimes I do, but seriously that is all the exercise he gets! Oh, and twice a week he carries the laundry to the laundry room, just to, I haul it back. The laundry room is 15 steps to the end of the hall, a left turn, and then 10 steps.

My husband’s day is – coffee, feed cats, work, breakfast, shower, nap, work, lunch, nap. Which leaves his afternoons free. He usually reads and occasionally watches television (with headphones).  Somehow, out of boredom, he started watching soccer. Pro, amateur, whatever was playing on whatever sports channels we have.

Then along came the women’s world cup. Hoo-boy – is he ever dedicated to this. I mean like dedicated. So here’s the thing – the final of the women’s world cup is today, Sunday, at 11am. What to do, what to do? Sunday, 11am, he’s usually vacuuming.  Oh No!

His answer to this world shattering problem? CHANGE HIS INVIOLABLE SCHEDULE.

Yup, yesterday, Saturday, we did the major housework so this morning would be free for him to watch soccer.

If I dare suggest a change to his schedule, he pulls faces, whines a bit and if his schedule MUST be adapted, even if it is just for that one time, well, harumph, sigh, he goes along – but just this once, please, thank you very much.

For me, groans and grumps. For the Women’s World Cup Soccer finals – No problemo!

Maybe I should take up soccer.