What do pre-mixed tile grout, Windex, Lysol cleaning wipes, dryer sheets, and unleaded gasoline have in common? Nothing really. Unless that is, you consider what I did today. It was a day that will live in the annals of (Kauffman) history forever. It was a day when John tackled an outside chore and an inside chore in a single day. And, if that were not enough – he did more than one inside chore.

I know what you’re thinking. No, I was not trying to make up for forgetting Cheryl’s birthday. (I offered to get some Taco Bell for cripes sake.) Frankly, I don’t know what I was thinking. If there was ever a day when I could have gotten out of some work, today was the day. Short of expelling useful living tissue, I was bringing up all sorts of interesting substances – utilizing several of the naturally occurring holes in my head. And yet, without complaint and nary a sigh of displeasure, I went about my duty, doing my part, earning my keep, being ‘The Man.’ Of course none of that stops me from whining now,

So if I was feeling so poorly and my motives weren’t childish, what gives?

The answer is simple: fever.

Cheryl, John, John, Cheryl.

If not for the fact that chance meetings between strangers rarely occur in your master bathroom, you’d wonder if the two people in this story knew each other. On the eve of prime time, this fine March evening, Cheryl was slaving away in the bathroom. She left the bathroom running at full impulse power, carrying an armful of cleaning supplies. Upon her departure, yours truly asked her if she was done in the bathroom. “No,” she replied. “Do you have to go?” I asked. “No,” she replied. “Well if you just cleaned up in there and you don’t have to ‘go’ then what do you need the bathroom for?” I asked. “How can you see out of the mirrors in there?” she asked. “Am I missing something?” I replied – keeping up with the Socratic tone of the conversation. “There are spots all over the mirrors, haven’t you noticed?” she asked, returning to the bathroom with more powerful cleaning supplies. “I didn’t know there were any,” I replied – dropping weak the Socratic guise once and for all. “They are all over the mirrors, doesn’t it bother you?” she asked.

Cheryl, John, John, Cheryl.

“Cheryl, why don’t you take the knobs off before you paint the doors?”
“If you want to paint, then take the knobs off.”

Touche!

Three hours later,

I find myself finishing up the inside of our pantry door. I’m putting the finishing touches on my masterpiece, a flawless paint job around a doorknob – still installed. It must have taken me fifteen minutes, easy (just for that half inch around the knob).

It really felt like I was proving a point at the time, I just can’t figure out what it was. Somebody find me a point, please?