Say Hello to June Cleaver!

Upon our divorce, my ex-husband relocated himself to his parents' cozy basement--where much to my delight, he is sleeping in a twin-sized bed. After he monopolized my queen-sized, four-poster sleigh bed, complete with 400 thread count sheets, for many, many months--while I slept on an air mattress in my living room--I find this to be a lesson in karma, created especially for him. Look back and watch me smack that!

When my ex left, he took very few of his possessions. He took his guitars and his musical equipment, apparently fearing that I might pawn it for cash or drugs or sex, or perhaps all of the above. He took the clothes that had previously been scattered all over my bedroom floor. He left everything else, which was very little, since I own the majority of possessions in my home, including the home itself.

One day, I got to the point that I was tired of looking at the evidence of my own job of being a poor "homemaker". I decided the best way to start was to take the initiative, and pack up his stuff on my own. I called this "taking out the trash". And really, what other option did I have? I certainly could not invite boys over if I had my ex-husband's stuff all over the place, so it had to go. I gleefully deposited it on his parents' front yard--on Thanksgiving. A shameless homemaker, I am.

Once his stuff was out of my way, I could get down to business and clean the house to my standards. Plus, I felt as though as 250 pound weight had been lifted from my shoulders--it was like gaining a new life and a new attitude. So I cleaned. And I organized. And I cleaned some more.

Serving in his role as baby daddy, my ex had to come to my house to pick up AC one night, and he noted the cleanliness of the house. He was probably cringing inside, knowing that he had missed out on the June Cleaver-like tendencies that I seem to possess after all. Because I was getting ready for a double date and the baby daddy was 45 minutes late to pick AC up, I had no choice but to kick him out as quickly as possible so I could get ready.

The double date, a first for me, was a disaster. It was a completely misguided attempt on the part of a guy friend. The guy friend happens to be dating one of my own best friends, and on this night, the guy friend ended up having to date us both, because I ditched the double date candidate after one glance. All that house cleaning...for nothing.

Needless to say, my ex was not oblivious to my tactics. At the next possible opportunity, he brought up the clean house, and said he "knew what I was up to". I became curious of "what I was up to", since clearly, I'd been up to nothing. He warned me that I "knew what he meant".

I smirked to myself, knowing that he was implying that I was *a-hem* entertaining men in my newly-clean and organized house. Nothing could be further from the truth. I am lucky if I am home often enough to entertain myself in my own house, much less entertain guests, especially the type that are looking to get laid by me, this Pussycat Doll-turned-June Cleaver-homemaker that I have become.

In the end, I found it highly amusing. If he believed that a clean home is an indicator of an active sex life, what did that mean about ours, since the house was rarely clean during our marriage? Using his standards, it would indicate that he didn't get laid. Ever.