Full-time Dirty

"Darlingest, would you hand me a towel?" I ask, with my head all the way up in the back of the fridge, the appliance now formerly known as "Antschwitz."  (That's going to offend some people, I know, but it's a killer.)  So, I'm cleaning the fridge, removing the three- and four-inch piles of ant bodies, and I ask for a towel from Phil, who is standing in the kitchen.

Silence.

"Honey?   ...Phil?"

I'm way up in the fridge, so getting out and turning around in the teensy closet of our kitchen would have been a lot more trouble than it sounds like.  And Phil was standing right in front of the towel rack.

"Phil?"

And then he lets me have it.  Not a towel, but -- "I think I want to live in a yurt with you, full time."

"WHAT?"  Now I'm outta the fridge.

He stands there staring into the stove, as if the vision of a yurt had appeared to him on the left front burner.  AND as if we had EVER talked about yurt living before, and with consideration to time-base.  

"Yeah, I want to live in a place where dirt is just part of your life and not something you have to battle to remove from your house every day."

Ah.  So yurt-living has nothing to do with sustainability or reduced consumption or being closer to nature, or me.  It's about NOT CLEANING.

"Sweetest heart," I offer, "I know that yurt rhymes with dirt, but that doesn't mean they have dirt floors.  Some of them are elevated off the ground, even."

"Oh."

"But thank you so much for including me in your chore-free fantasy."