Big Love: The Clean(ing) Version

Remember the TV show, Big Love?  The one where the Mormon guy had a bunch of wives and there was always some kind of trouble happening? It’s not really that hard to imagine there’d be a lot of “issues” under those circumstances.

This makes me think that Mitt Romney must have more than a presidential campaign to think back upon when you consider that somewhere, tucked into the branches of his family tree, there are—supposedly—six polygamous men with forty-one wives between them.  Unless you are the descendent of a Mormon or a sheik, these kinds of figures are probably not applicable to your own family tree.  Okay, maybe that’s not entirely true.  In the garden of ancestry.com (if you were my husband or me), you might find forty-one spouses rustling about in the leaves and boughs, but, thanks to the invention and option of divorce, you wouldn’t necessarily find them eating the same piece of fruit at the same time.  Although, that might not be entirely true, either.

None of this was really of any concern to me—until recently, that is.  My husband sent me to Bed, Bath & Beyond a few months ago to purchase, well, I guess there’s no other way to say it: his new wife.  I call the Dyson, handheld, cordless mini-vacuum his new wife because he told me, after using it to dust-bust his recording studio, that he wanted to marry it.  All I know is that he gave me assurance that he did not want to end our marriage—comforting, you can imagine.  Rather than taking the whole thing too personally, I suggested he bring the new wife around to the house and let her clean up some shit there, too. 

And, you know what?  I have to say that I saw what he saw in her.  At first, I let them hang out and do stuff together.  I didn’t mind not getting in the way.  Really, let them do the cleaning.  I still had the laundry, the cooking.  Actually, I take back that last part.  A long time ago, our son said, “Mommy, you are not a cooker.”  Fine, let’s make it sewing.  I still had the laundry and sewing.  The only other thing I needed was a fairy godmother—and, maybe, someplace to go.

After a little while, though, I felt like I was letting my prince-of-a husband down.  Aside from the fact that he had thrown me over so easily, what kind of woman lets her man and his new wife do all the cleaning?  “A thoughtless bitch,” is what I hear you saying.

When you get right down to it, I wanted my husband back.  He is no Mormon.  He is no sheik.  One wife per customer where I come from, buster.  The trick was going to be how to snatch him back. In this type of case, it had to be a fight fire with fire thing. (Or, should I have said vacuum with vacuum?) I would have to bring home a new mate, one that would make my husband jealous.

I slapped on a little make-up, found something nice from my closet to put on, and took myself to Bed, Bath & Beyond.  The salesman had to contend with a lot of questions about all of Dyson’s full size models before I chose the DC40 multi-floor upright.  Mostly, I wanted to know about the DC41 Animal because when you’re shopping for a new mate, the Animal part might be important.  Just so you know, it’s made to clean up pet hair and that saved my husband a hundred bucks.  Yes, I made my husband pay.  I reasoned, if my plan worked and won him back, it would be our money.  And, if things didn’t turn out as hoped?  Well, he started it, you know.  You can’t just say you want to marry something else and not expect to pay.