Sunday Photo Fiction

 

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My wife is obsessed with cleaning. Hoover here, scrub there, wash the garden path, shampoo the cat. The other day she had her head in the washing machine. ‘What are you doing?’ I said.

‘Washing it,’ she said ‘your filthy clothes have been in here’

Last week she complained the flower beds looked dirty! ‘They are made of dirt’ I said.

‘No,’ she said. ’They are filled with soil’.

‘Okay,’ I said ‘so 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’. She says even my laugh is dirty. ‘Wipe that filthy grin off your face’ she says.

You should have heard her last night. ‘Wash your grimy hands, take off those mucky clothes, get your muddy shoes off the carpet, take a shower’. I said I’d prefer a bath. ‘You’d rather sit in a tub full of your own dirty water?’ she shouted. See what I have to put up with?

If I outlive her one song simply has to be played at her funeral. Mud, mud, glorious mud!

Wallow in it with me, do!

Word count 185

spf-august-12-2018-fandango-1Thanks to Susan for hosting Sunday Photo Fiction and Fandango for the picture

19 thoughts on “Sunday Photo Fiction”

  1. Your wife would die at my house, I fear. This morning I found a wandering beetle had tumbled into my sink — so I went and wrote a poem about it. (No, I don’t normally permit beetles on our counter, but these things do happen, eh?)
    Mind you, I would be delighted to have someone do all the cleaning here while I write all day long. And whoever wrote that song deserves oodles of accolades. 😉

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Hi Keith – has to be one of my favourite songs from my youth … but I love your tale of woe … obsessive cleanliness is too much – but some is essential … great read though – cheers Hilary

    Liked by 1 person

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