Because nothing says “I love you” like arguing about cleaning the garage in 99° heat

Every couple has moments that test the strength of their union. Ours came on a hot summer afternoon in the form of dried leaves, cobwebs, and a mysterious piece of pipe.

When I was a kid, no one in our suburban cul-de-sac could match my mother’s cleaning skills. Spring cleaning meant washing walls. She even washed the ceilings–she had a special damp sponge, the 60’s version of a Mr. Clean Pad. I can’t remember what it was called, but it had a distinctive smell, something like fresh Play-Doh and Silly Putty.

Even the garage in our ranch house sparkled. You could eat a picnic dinner on the floor. When my mother became irritated with me for moping around because I was bored in the summer, she’d make me wash the garage walls with a pail of soapy water and a sponge.

Our garage would make my mother’s toes curl. Last week, the husband’s car was in the shop, so I thought I’d take advantage of the space, pull my car out and clean, even though the afternoon temperature felt like 99°F that day. I didn’t intend to get rid of stuff. I just wanted to clean out the leaves and cobwebs. I mentioned this to him while he was eating lunch and asked him how hard it was to set up the blower–it’s hanging from the garage ceiling, and I can’t reach it.

He let out a little now-what groan.

What’s in your apocalypse kit?

I went back out to move the shovels, rakes, axes and what-not, like odd pipes, old broom handles, and long pieces of wood, from the side. I wondered how much I could toss before he’d notice but thought better of it. He’d once tossed something of mine that he decided I didn’t use anymore, and I was plenty pissed. In fact, it still annoys me.

Yet, sections of pipe?

Me: what’s this?
Him: that’s a piece of pipe 
Me: but what’s it for?
Him: in case I need a piece of pipe. 

Okay, whatever. In case he needs a piece of pipe. Like there will be a plumbing emergency and only he will be prepared. This is his apocalypse kit: water, canned beans, and an assortment of unidentifiable hardware.

When “Blow or Suck” isn’t nearly as fun as it sounds

Back to the blower. I wanted to blow the leaves out, but Don insisted it was better to suck them up into a bag. We went round and round. Blow or suck. Blow or suck. It felt like a marital Rorschach test.

If this is how we negotiate leaf removal, imagine us picking out curtains.

Honestly, I don’t know what the neighbors heard, but I’m sure our blow vs. suck debate earned us a spot on Nextdoor. Don has this funny (haha–not) way of teasing me by saying things such as, “What are you doing now?” Imagine the exasperated voice of Ralph Kramden talking to his wife Alice on The Honeymooners. If that reference is too ancient for you, try Frank Barone from Everybody Loves Raymond.

I laugh, but there are times I tell him to zip it. I tell him, “What if the neighbors think you always talk to me like that?”

He’s not grouchy or whiney. Really. He thinks he’s funny. And he’ll help me fix anything if I get stuck. He just gets a bit nervous when he sees me walking around with a power drill and ladder.

Our garage door was wide open, so basically our bickering equaled a free reality show.

Here’s the thing: He got the blower down, pulled out the extension cord, plugged it in and fired it up. In suck mode. Of course it fired up like an asthmatic dragon. I told him, “Hey! You’re leaving a cloud of dust behind you.”

He said, “It’s fine.”

I put on a face mask from COVID days because no way was I going to inhale garage dust. As I got to work, I noticed the nozzle was loose. What a pain. It did suck, just not in a helpful way. I tried to fix it, but impatience got the best of me. I gently set it aside, even though I wanted to stomp on it. Honestly, I appreciated that he set up the clumsy, useless thing for me. He could deal with it now.

What did I get for my effort?

So, I swept. With a broom. And a dustpan. The entire two car garage, including moving all kinds of crap and getting into the corners.

And I got a blister on the inside of my thumb. That’s what passive-aggressive sweeping will get you. A purple badge of adulting. Mom would be proud. I showed it off to my husband at dinner.

In the end, the garage is, well, less horrifying. The marriage is intact. And the pipe is waiting for its moment of glory.

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Thank you for visiting.
Linda K. Sienkiewicz is a wrangler of words and big messy feelings in fiction and poetry.
In the Context of Love | Gordy and the Ghost Crab | Sleepwalker
Love and Other Incurable Ailments, coming 10/27/2026 from Regal House Publishing
Connect with Linda on social media: LinkTree