July 14. Day 195. Wash day blues

There are some things my husband will never understand about my behaviour and which I will never be able to adequately explain because I know they make absolutely no sense at all except that they make absolute perfect sense. For example, cleaning up for the cleaner. A girl has to clean up before the cleaner arrives because a) you can't be expected to clean a surface you can't find and b) strangers can't think you live like this just because you do.
And tomorrow Rumple has an appointment at the dog groomers so today I washed and brushed him. After a week at the beach rolling in the sand (and goodness knows what else) and playing in both the creek and the ocean he smelled like a dead fish and felt not unlike sandpaper. In short, he looked like a cross between a stray and something the cat dragged in and nothing like the world's most pampered pooch. Keeping up appearances is totally important in such things - for Rumple, you understand not me. I'm sure Rumple gets this even if my long suffering husband never will.