It truly is Greg’s fault that I am blogging and he is washing windows.

The norm around here on weekend mornings is to companionably chat over coffee about the news, plans for the day, or how dirty the windows are.

Today, just as I begin to catch up on local news, make plans for the day, and remark about how dirty the windows are, he jumped up and started to clean them.

Does this mean I should also immediately jump up and join in? I’ve had a mere two sips of my coffee.

His barbs would indicate I should.

Okay. Perhaps it might have been best if I hadn’t looked up from my email to comment that the screens could have used a good vacuuming just as he was putting the last dusty screen back in place.

Those of you who know Greg and I well know that we communicate with generous portions of sarcasm thinly disguised as teasing to make a point.

He turns to look me square in the eye with squeegee in hand.

“Surely you’re working on your book,” he says with all the sarcasm he can muster, “as you claim to do each morning.”

I look up guiltily from my time-wasting Facebook page. An uncomfortable pause ensues as I grapple for words to justify sitting on my ass, not writing, while he is cleaning windows.

“I’m due for a new blog entry,” I tell him. “And I just thought of one.”