Emma & Lars

“You gonna stab me with those scissors?”

“Yes. Yes I am,” I quipped. 

“I’m going to puncture your flesh with dozens of wounds. I’m thinking I’ll fashion a very large and extremely conspicuous pattern on your torso. Maybe a pentagram. Maybe a peace sign. I haven’t decided yet. Then I’m going to cut you up into tiny little pieces with these very same scissors. I’ll do it slowly. One tiny hair or fragment at a time. I’ll really relish the process. Then I’ll dispose of each individual specimen in a solitary and extremely isolated location. A random bear or wolf will pause briefly for a sniff. But they’ll mosey on when they realize there’s nothing notable to snack on. And why will I do this? Simply because I’m bored. And mostly because you’re annoying.”

Lars squinted at me suspiciously, like he was fully expecting me to launch my attack imminently.

I stared back for ten, maybe fifteen, seconds awaiting a verbal response. But he said nothing. We’ve been together for two years and it’s like this man doesn’t even know me at all.

“Jesus Christ, Lars! Obviously, I’m not going to stab you with these scissors. It couldn’t be more obvious that I’m cleaning up and putting things away. And one of the many things you left out on the counter…for the millionth time…was this pair of scissors.”

Lars shrugged and walked away. Presumably, he was off to make a mess in another room that I would have to clean up later. Lars never tidied up after himself. Not the grease he splattered all over the stove when he fried a pound of bacon. Not the towel he dropped on the bathroom floor after his shower when he no longer had any use for it. Not the dozens of pebbles he carried in via the deep treads in his running shoes every single day, several times a day, when he took the dog out. No mess ever seemed to faze him. 

Lars had clearly picked the wrong girl when he chose me as his girlfriend – a woman who is constantly aggrieved by filth and chaos. Actually, maybe he had chosen exactly the right girl.

I started folding the mound of laundry Lars had hastily dumped on the couch three days prior. At this point, he was just using the living room as his dressing room, discarding dirty clothes on one end of the couch, then picking up something from the pile of clean clothes on the other end of the couch to wear each day. He had a system. It worked. For him.

“Are you going to come out here and help me fold your damn laundry?” I yelled, then added, “Or am I going to have to throw it all in the fire pit, douse it with lighter fluid, and toss in a match?”

Under my breath, I continued, “If I accidentally spill some of that lighter fluid on the deck, the whole house is going up in flames, with you in it. Just thought you might want to be aware of the potential consequences of your actions.”

“You say something?” Lars asked as he passed through the living room to take the dog out.

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t say anything at all. You’re amazing honey. I love cleaning up after you so, so much,” I responded.

“That’s what I thought you said,” Lars said distractedly. He raised the pitch of his voice a couple of octaves and squealed, “Come here girl,” followed by a whistle and several taps of his hand on a thigh. He was taking our puppy, Clara, out for her afternoon pee. 

“By all means, get her so excited she starts tap dancing and peeing all over the floor I just mopped. I live for that,” I snapped.

Lars ignored me and picked up a wiggling and writhing Clara, mid-pee, ensuring that her pee not only got all over the floor, but also on the living room rug, the corner of the couch, and the new door mat on the way out. 

Back to the kitchen I went to get the broom (for the incoming pebbles), the mop (for the floor pee), the laundry basket (for the wet throw rug and doormat), and a wet rag to wipe down the couch.

“My life is so amazing,” I muttered, “I get to clean the house all day long, every single day. What could possibly be better than this?”

Abruptly, an out-of-breath Lars ripped open the front door with the puppy squeezed tightly in his folded arms, stepped inside, and slammed the door shut behind him.

“That wasn’t at all dramatic,” I quipped.

“There’s a huge raccoon out there, eyeing little Miss Clara for lunch,” Lars replied.

We live in a rural area, so an occasional wild animal never surprises me. They never fail to surprise the hell out of Lars. He’s a big-city boy, born and raised.

I smiled, “Raccoons. Yes. They are terrifying. Did you know they can actually murder humans?”

Lars looked at me quizzically, but my ensuing laughter gave me away.

He put Clara down. Then he hung his coat up on a hook and, without removing his shoes, walked through the living room and into the bedroom to lay down and rest from his exhausting encounter with the wild kingdom.

I sighed and got to work on the new round of pebbles scattered all over the floor.

Forty-five minutes later, when I was finally relaxing on the couch, remote in hand, and mentally buried in a true-crime mystery show, Lars strolled out of the bedroom.

“I’ve been thinking…” he started.

“Oh no. How did that go for you?" 

“Actually, it went quite well. I think. I think...we should get married,” he said with a smile as he got down on one knee and produced a ring box from his pocket.

“Of course we should get married,” I responded. “I can’t think of anything I’d love more than cleaning up after you for the rest of my life and protecting you from gweat big scawy wild animals.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Lars replied as he slipped the ring on my finger and kissed me on my forehead.