A few weeks ago, Nike and Belle (my parents’ dogs) got into the trash. They made good work of devouring the entire remains of our chicken dinner and spreading the trash all around the basement.
When my mom came upon the scene, Nike slinked away, hiding behind the couch in shame for what he’d done. Meanwhile, Belle—who is simply too stupid to know better—grinned and bound around, nipping at pieces of trash and throwing them in the air. She flipped her floppy ears at my mom, as if to say, “Look, Mom! Look what I did! Look it! Look what I did!”
I’ve realized that when Eric comes home to my having cleaned and organized the loft all day, I must look a lot like Belle to him.
Look it! Look at what I did! I moved all your stuff, further scrubbed your stamp off the place and elbowed my way deeper past The Line that should be carefully danced around and heeded.
Whoops.
I think the worst part is, my heart genuinely believe it’s doing good and being helpful.
Sigh.
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