on mrs. nice guy's impeccable timing

today was mr. nice guy's time to clean the estates. normally, the chores are equitably distributed -- mr. nice guy does the shopping at the Slark Pope Food Coop (much more on that later), and a fair bit of cooking for mrs. nice guy. mr. nice guy is quite the nimble chef, if he does say so himself. he also usually cleans the cat box (and now always cleans the litter box because, the missus claims, litter is poisonous to our unborn guppy. mr. nice guy find this staggeringly specious, but swallows his criticism and agrees to always clean the leavings of his prolific felines).

anyway. mrs. nice guy usually cleans up around the house while mr. nice guy is at the office on saturdays (he works tuesday through saturday. is there nothing more glorious than having every monday free? he thinks not). but. no longer. she being couch-ridden and puke prone, sweeping and scrubbing duties fall to yours truly. don't feel bad for mr. nice guy. he can take it.

or so he thought. just as he was finishing the bathroom -- he put a wicked shine onto the old porcelain throne -- mrs. nice guy came scuttling in. she flipped up the blindingly white lid and ralphed repeatedly into the spotless bowl. after collapsing backwards into mr. nice guy's strong arms, she flushed. closing the lid she ran an exhausted hand across the top of the toilet and said in a weakened voice:

"you missed a spot, right here."

how can mr. nice guy not love this woman?