I correct everyone. Hubby says I am not supposed to tell people when they're doing things 'wrong'. He goes on to say just because I am like my Papa B, doesn't mean I get to run things in this one dog-town. But I like things my way. For example, I go on bursts of cleaning. Sprees of cleanliness. Organizing everything, so that when I come home from a long day, I don't have to do anything domestically. That means I have to make sure it isn't a disaster before I leave. But Hubby knows by Thursday that the teeny pile of projects on my desk will become a heaping mound of laundry and mail, with a new book thrown in, a cluster of knick knacks and a comedy writing journal. A pile of my working titles and things I hope to have time for...eventually. My way is to sit in that pile for the week and absorb all the life from those things; taking it all in and loving every bit of it. His way is to throw all that laundry into the dirty clothes hamper and hide any evidence of work from our home. Then he promptly remarks on the amount of laundry there is.
My way can be a sloppy and disorganized mess. Taking me off my direct route. Do you ever wish you could take your own advice? As for Hubby, I think he pretends to do things my way so he can stay on the shortest path with the least resistance on the road to his carefree destination. Cuz no one should waste their lives fighting with a control freak over laundry.