They Call Me Mr. Clean

Staci got mad at me yesterday for always leaving stuff in the middle of the floor.

“I’m the one who has to pick it up,” she said, “So when you’re walking through a room and you see something lying there, do something.  Don’t just leave it for me.”

“Okay,” I said.

This morning, I saw a sock lying on the floor in front of the nightstand.

It was right out in the open, plain as day.  The very type of thing she told me to do something about.

So I did.

I kicked it under the bed.

27 thoughts on “They Call Me Mr. Clean

  1. LMAO!! At least you’re doing something about it! My dear hubby would stare at it until I picked it up.

    I’m trying to be a better wife, and stop having thoughts of kicking him square in the crotch.

  2. I don’t see what the problem is.

    Of course, that could be why I’m 42, never married, and my house is so messy I have to buy duplicates of things I already own because I can’t find the original ones.

  3. hm…”she gets mad at you for leaving things in the middle of the floor for her to pick up”.

    This is highly curious, considering that she’s been married to you for how long, and you have how many children together, and certainly she must have walked through many many rooms with floors with you in the vicinity.

    I don’t quite understand the situation.

    Is this a recent phenomenon or something that’s been going on for years now? Perhaps there’s been a change of diet, additional stresses?

  4. And so the sock shall remain, separated from its partner. A prospect you might want to start preparing for.

  5. “I’m trying to be a better wife, and stop having thoughts of kicking him square in the crotch.”

    Also interesting. Certainly a good wife would not actually act on these impulses, so unless you have acted on them in the past, why are you worried now?

  6. jfc1, (sorry if that’s not correct. Those are teeny letters & my glasses aren’t helping)

    You’re right, a good wife would not act on those impulses..which is probably why I’m still married to him after 15 years. If you knew my husband, you’d be worried for his ‘boys’ too.

  7. This reminds me of the time when my uncle’s cat peed on the carpet and rather than clean it up himself he got masking tape and outlined an area around it as a warning to others not to step there.

  8. You realize that this post will be submitted as evidence in her murder trial. And even after she skewers you like a shish kebab, disembowels you, and burns your remains, she will be acquitted.

    Good luck…you may want to reevaluate your response to her requests.

  9. Little Known Fact: The care cartoonists take with their socks will be relative to the care they take with their cartooning.

  10. After weeks of feeding on innocent little dust bunnies, the will grow into a large, evil sock puppet named Chuck E. You are doomed.

  11. Oh, Mr. Pastis. You missed an opportunity. The sock should be added to the array of pillows Staci makes you construct on the bed.

  12. You know, if Pig and the gang take it in the Oompa Loompas where do the Oompa Loompas take it? Very profound thoughts with today’s strip.

  13. Next week Stephan will be blogging about the washing machine eating his socks.

    BTW Stephan, I’m thinking Staci reads your blog whether she admits it or not. You might consider wearing a cup to protect the oompa loompas.

  14. I am convinced that this is a “male thing.” I can walk through a room and step over something on the floor. I might notice it for a brief second while my tiny male brain makes note of the object on the floor as I step over it the first time, but after that, the out of place thing becomes part of the standard environment and I no longer “see” it. At least I no longer see it as out of place. I will then automatically step over it to avoid it, but oddly enough, it usually doesn’t occur to me to pick it up and put it away. I don’t do it out of spite for my wife, it just does not occur to me that it is out of place. My wife hates that. But I’m a male, what can I do?

  15. Jim – I totally agree. Maybe it’s a hunter’s instinct. When ancestral men hunted in the jungle they couldn’t bother picking up every stick as they hunted down a sabre toothed wildebeest… they just learned where they were and went around them! Not our fault.

  16. Okay. So like i’ve checked out a fair number of blogs and basically lost any hope that there was a reason for their existence. At the risk of enlarging your head to saturnesque proportions, this has got to be why blogs were born. U r by far the funniest man on the planet. Thanks for the awesome belly laughs dude.

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