When Rick came home, I led him into the kitchen where I had the Clorox Oxy Clean something or other cleaner sitting on the counter with a bowl and a scrub brush. "I need you to make up some of this cleaning solution," I say. "What do you need me to clean? The swing?" (referring to the outside swing which has some dirt spots on it) "That and something else too." He mixes the solution and then asks, "Okay, where do you need me?" He follows me into the bedroom. "What is it? Hairball from the cat?" I pick up the pillow, handing it to him. "What do you suppose that is?," I ask him, laughing in my head at the look of shock on his face that quickly disappears. "I have no idea." "Huh. Thats funny. I spent the whole morning looking for that pillow when I was making the bed and couldn't find it. I finally found it this afternoon, shoved under the bed." He pretends to examine it, as if he has no clue as to what it may be. "Thats weird" he says. "Whats really gross, is that that is the pillow I lay my face on when I watch television in the bedroom." No comment, as he scrubs the fabric. "Well whatever it was," he says "it came off really easily." "Lets just make sure this doesn't ever happen again. And please try to remember that the Kleenex here in the bedroom is just as good as the Kleenex in the office." Silence. He knows. He knows I know. I know he knows I know. Is this the end of the saucy affair? I doubt it. But at least I didn't clean it up this time.