This weeks prompt on Sunday Scribblings is the word Clean
I don’t know why she married me. The only thing we have in common is that we got married on the same day. The wedding was such a miserable affair, that even the cake was in tiers.
Thing is she’s got this obsession with cleaning. Hoovering here, scrubbing there, she even polishes the parrots beak! I ask you! She washes the garden path and shampoos the cat. The other day she was on her knees with her head in the washing machine. What are you doing I said. I’m washing the washing machine she said, it's had dirty clothes in it. Last week she complained that the garden borders looked dirty! They are made of dirt I said. No she said, they are filled with soil. Okay I said, they are soiled. She gave me a filthy look.
I swore the other day. You should have seen her face! Wash your mouth out with soap she yelled. Turn that frown upside down I said. Last week she suddenly said - I want a fun guy. A fungi? I asked. You mean you want a mushroom? If looks could kill...!
Wash your grimy hands, take those mucky clothes off, get your muddy shoes off the upholstery, when did you last change your underwear, have a shower. I said I’d rather take a bath. She said - typical, you’d rather sit in a tub full of your own dirty water.
And so it goes on. If I see her out I’m determined that one song simply has to played at her funeral. Mud, mud, glorious mud! Wallow in it with me, do!