In the interest of heightening the irony factor, I'll not be disclosing which parts are true to our Jubilant life. Because, you know, where's the fun in that?
I'll let you decide, my dearly astute reader.
The wife stalks into the living room where cheers for the football game drown out her pounding heart . "Okay, you win."
"Just a sec. There it is! There it is! Yes! Up by six!" His glance sweeps past his wife as he reaches for another sip of Dr. Pepper. "You wanted to say something, Babe?"
"You win." She huffs and lands on a rear-dimpled cushion. "You win. I lose."
"What did I win?"
"Aren't you wondering what you won for?" With her eyebrows reaching her hairline, he realizes he may be in trouble.
"Okaaaaaay. What did I win for?" He carefully sets down the slippery cup on the small table in his peripheral vision and eyeballs his grimacing wife.
"You won for being able to hold out the longest. You can live with that dirty bathroom longer than I can." The rag slips from her fingers and falls to the floor in a yellow heap.
His nervousness bounces in his jean-clad leg. "Uh, did I know we were having a contest?"
Her eyes swivel to the back of her head, "No, not a contest. Just a test and if I had told you, then you would hold out on purpose! That bathroom was filthy! Didn't it occur to you that it needed cleaned?"
"Well, yeah, but I just figured - that - you'd get around to it - eventually?" The end of his sentence went up as if he wasn't sure how she'd take this particular answer. It sounded fine to him. He was giving her lee-way. Showing her that he wasn't overzealous about her cleaning habits.
Or lack thereof.
"Did it occur to you that you could clean it yourself once in awhile?" Her voice was steely and quiet. Resignation making her cheek faintly bulge like a pulsing vein.
"I guess not . . . um . . . so, I didn't actually win anything?"
###Or the conversation may have gone like this:
"Babe! You turned on the football game for me! Hey the bathroom looks good. Found time to clean it, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess I did."