The power of Not-Studying, a burial

The Wife is studying for her CPA exams, in this case her 2nd of 4. It's a stressful time, she has 2 days left to prepare for this monster. What effect does this have? Well, for one I didn't have to bury TaTa. Lines have been crossed, duties have been subverted, all in the name of Not-Studying.

You remember back when you were in school -- how tantalizing that unkempt sock drawer looked to you when you had a big paper due. "Oh, it won't take long, it's affecting my concentration I'll just organize it." Boom, forward to 3 hours later, 11:00 pm the night before a paper is due, and you've moved on from the sock drawer to vacuuming underneath the bed (which of course entailed cleaning all the old socks, magazines, dried food, and vermin out from under there), and are planning to finally get to cleaning that pesky spot behind the toilet that gathers dust and pubic hair. You've suddenly become June Cleaver on Meth. All in the name of Not-Studying.

So tonight, I humbly posit that this was the motivation behind the unusual event that ensued. It was after dinner time when we realized little TaTa hadn't been buried yet (busy morning) and The Wife said she'd go "get it all set." I assumed that meant, I don't know, picking a spot to dig. The Wife's not so big on the whole death thing anyway (not a wuss by any means, but still), thus the division of labor in our marriage. Instead, she hauled the dead carcass, dug an impressively deep hole, and buried the little bugger before I realized what had even happened. This is completely out of line and out of character, as she is supposed to be the "Care of Small Living Things" department of this marriage, while my beat is "Death and Compost." It is amazing what happens to personalities under stress. It was a good break from studying, nonetheless.

She's so going to beat me when she reads this, I better get it edited and published quick.