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The peaceful day of morning had turned into a drizzly gray afternoon. Not unheard of in London, but disappointing just the same. Tom was looking forward to warmer weather and sunny days. Particularly to spend them with you. He headed into the bedroom to pick up the book he was currently reading when he spied paw prints. Muddy paw prints. On the brand new duvet, you purchased just that past weekend in Bicester at the White Company at a steal.
“BOBBY!” Tom’s voice boomed through the house.
He overheard the telltale jangle of Bobby’s collar as the spaniel made his way to the master bedroom. Bobby skidded to a stop when he spied Tom’s face pinched. His butt flopped against the hardwood floor just at the entryway.
“Mud on the new duvet, Bobby? The one she is so proud of?” Tom spoke to the dog as though he would respond. Slowly, Tom’s shoulders relaxed and his breath slowed as Bobby’s brown eyes peer up at him. “Bobby, you know she will have both of our hides if she sees this. Come help.” Bobby promptly trotted off down the hall. “TRAITOR!” Tom called after him before turning his attention to the bed.
Tom made short order of stripping the bed of its sheets and shoving them into the washer. After ten minutes, he finally wrestled Bobby into the tub to wash his paws. “Honestly, Bobby.” he muttered to himself. “Do you need to go back to obedience school?” The dog responded with a bark. “Then prove me wrong, buddy.” Another bark.
Tom dried him off and headed off to put everything into the dryer before finally settling down with his book. The dryer went off, and he carried an armful of sheets to the master bedroom. He made quick work of putting on the fitted and flat sheet and then stared at the duvet and cover. Tom watched you put it on the other day, but hadn’t paid too must attention.
“How hard can it be?” Tom chuckled as he grabbed the comforter and duvet with confidence.
Fifteen minutes later, you came home, carrying groceries.
“Darling?” You called out when Tom didn’t meet you in the kitchen. No answer, but you swore you heard grunting and a curse word or two from the bedroom. Bobby’s head poked around a corner.
“What has he gotten himself into?” you asked.
Bobby barked in response.
You chuckled and headed down the hall with Bobby’s nails clicking behind you on the floor. Not sure what to expect when you opened the door, but your husband wrestling with the bedding was not one of them.
“I didn’t realize it was laundry day, Tom?” you commented, leaning against the doorframe.
His head poked out from inside the duvet cover. “Darling!” His ginger curls sticking out every direction and glasses slightly cockeyed. “I didn’t hear you come in. Just straightening up.” He fixed his glasses and flashed a wide smile.
You crossed your arms. “I made the bed before I left this morning, Tom. Shouldn’t you be better at lying? God of Lies, my ass.”
“Hey! I only play one on screen.” Tom continued to fumble with the sheets. “Someone might have gotten mud on the cover.” He shot a glare at Bobby, who was curled around your ankles. On that note, Bobby turned tail and headed back to the kitchen. “THAT’S RIGHT, RUN!”
You giggled and stepped into the mess, wrapping your arms around his waist. “And you thought you could hide the evidence before I got home?”
“Precisely. But that…” He jabbed a finger at the sheets. “… has defeated me. A worthy opponent.”
You raised a brow. “More worthy than that super strappy set of lingerie I wore for our anniversary.”
“Far more worthy. I could use scissors on that.” He wiggled his brows.
“I spent good money on that!” You smacked his chest. “Come on, let me help you.” You grabbed the cover and shoved the comforter into his hands. In a matter of minutes you had the cover on.
Tom stood there, mouth agape. “Witchcraft.”
You smirked. “Practice.” You snapped your fingers. “How about we switch chores, you make the bed and I take Bobby for a walk?” You shoved pillowcases into his hands and trotted down the hallway, whistling for Bobby.
“HEY!”
“You’ll be an expert in no time.” You yelled back. He overheard the jangle of Bobby’s collar, followed soon by the front door slamming.
“Traitors, all of you.” he grumbled as he finished making the bed.