Husband is a pile maker. I do not blame him for this because I know his mom and his dad and they are both pile makers too. It is simply a matter of genetics. And I knew about it and still married him.
He makes piles of bills, magazines, newspapers – sections to be read, read and ready for recycling, and read but to be saved. His piles typically start on an empty surface such as a table top, a desk, or a chair. When there is no longer room on said surface, the piles start their natural migration to the floor. It is here where they start to bother me.
Ok, that last sentence was a total lie. The piles bother me wherever they form because these piles don’t just exist for a brief moment in time and then disperse like white fluffy clouds blowing in the wind. No they stay, hang around heavy, morphing into larger and more complicated piles.
I used to nag, but who likes that. So I have simply learned to live with the piles.
But then entered Sasha our new rescue dog. She is not housetrained, being a former stray and never having need for such silly rules. While she lived at the rescue facility, they put newspaper down in a corner of the floor for her and her bunkmate to do their business on. So… she learned to potty on paper (well, most of the time.) This, as you can imagine, has come in quite handy. It is as if overnight, our house has become pile free (well, at least the floor has).
And last night, another major discovery. Sasha also deems laundry left on the floor to be a nice place to potty.
I wonder if clothes left on the floor instead of put into the laundry hamper will also become a thing of the past in our house.
A girl can dream…