Dearest Husband~

I realize that you are only vaguely aware of the society around you at times, but I still cannot fathom how one has made it to the age of 39, the vast majority of these years residing in places with modern kitchens, and not learned that dishwashing soap and dishwasher soap are not interchangeable.

I realize that it is a great enormous flaw on my part that the Jetsons box of Electrasol was not magically refilled for your using pleasure. But I am not Mrs. Jetson and Rosie does not live in this house--and forgive me for lacking in her thoroughness, what with these three very small children, enormous remodeling project, perpetually dirty house and poor health to attend to--and so boxes do occasionally become empty on my watch.

I also realize it is a failing on my part that I was not by your side in your hour of need. How could you have possibly known how to handle the situation? It is my fault that I was almost 19 feet away from you and in another room. Granted, it has different flooring and function, but it isn't like there is a dividing wall or cone of silence between the two. So of course, asking if we have more Electrasol (and receiving the answer, "yes, nine boxes in the pantry") would have been simply too much.

I find you going to Walgreens in the middle of the night in the cold and nasty climes to attend to this problem admirable. Thank you for buying not one but two boxes of inferior product neither on sale nor with a coupon. But do you think you could have perhaps done this before filling the little cup with dishwashing soap and turning it on to fill our kitchen with suds and then leaving?

(Remember the $1400 in damage caused when you let the bathroom sink overflow for an hour or two, discovered it then told no one, attempted to halfway clean it up yourself, and then left it in standing water for another hour before admitting what you'd done and letting someone help? Have you seen the number of cabinets in our kitchen? Twenty-three. I did not overly mind handcrafting one new bathroom cabinet, especially as it is completely beautiful, but I draw the line at twenty-three.)

And while I appreciate watching a recorded episode of Lost is of utmost importance, I am glad that you reminded me of my role as your wife--to prod you along and remind you of what you should already know--and allowed me to exercise that role as you kept trying to sit down while there were suds yet coating the floor and along the bottom of the cabinets.

I realize that I left you in charge of the children for an hour Saturday and that we have been bewildered ever since as to how to get the green Sharpie off of the linoleum in front of the dishwasher that you could not have possibly noticed Charlie so diligently applying, as you were in another room with the door closed, listening to your MP3 player. But this is perhaps not the best plan of attack.

I'm just sayin'.