'I'm sorry, George,' I say, 'but I've come to the conclusion that the only way I'm going to have a clean house is by getting rid of you.'
George ponders this for a moment then says, 'May I put forward an alternative solution?'
'Of course. I am not one to deprive you of your human rights.'
'Huh hm, canine,' he coughs.
'Of course, I mean canine rights.'
'It is my belief,' he says, 'that there is only one answer to the how-to-get-a-clean-house question: you have to go.'
'Me? I don't create the dirt you do!'
He shakes his paw. 'No, no, I'm not suggesting that you do.'
'It is my suggestion that we exchange you for a woman who likes to clean.'
'Oh,' I hold my hand to my heart. 'Cut me to the quick why don't you?'
'And do you think my skin is impenetrable to your jibes?'
We both pause and think. Eventually I speak.
'Let's agree to disagree and, tell you what: if you don't tell Husband your idea, I won't tell him mine.'
We shake on it.
And I go back to cleaning.