I used to get my panties in a bunch whenever the girl would ask me to do something in the middle of my work day. Like laundry or food shop. Um, I'm WORKING, I would quip, borderline annoyed.
And she would always put stuff on my 'desk'. Papers, Reader's Digests, crap we bought at the store the night before. It would drive me nuts any time I went to the country. I'd have to reorganize my office 'space' every morning. I'd miss the city where I had my own 'office'.
She's gotten much better about respecting my country desk. Now apparently, we need to work on the city office. Baby.
It's her house, I can't much complain. And she's cleaning up. But cleaning up means if she doesn't find it important or see a place for it it goes in the office. My office. I looked up office and it does not mean a place to store unwanted stuff. In fact it means quite the opposite.
It's a room assigned to an individual in which they do business. I'm that individual and my business is not rearranging stuff. I do collect a lot of unwanted stuff, but we send it overseas far far away from my office.
And so we do this little dance every weekend. I go to work, she cleans up the house by throwing everything in my office, closing the door, and forgetting about it. Monday morning I get up and move everything she put in there back out into the hall and living room. It doesn't belong in the office. I have to WORK there.
Baby, where's my ear buds? Last I saw them, they were in the office. Sigh, I'm not surprised. It's like the bi-cycle tri-angle in there, things go in and never come out.