It was time to paint the front of the house before the frost sets in. I took direction to use diluted bleach to kill the moss first by way of preparation. Then some reckless painting a bit late in the day when it was growing dark. My anger threatened to govern in the place of thought as the paint blobbed on the path and drive-way and yet not sufficiently on the walls (a sheet should have been put down, I know). It was a blot on my evening. My husband agreeing then realising not to, with his wonderfully clumsy tenderness. And me suddenly pleased and relieved with a certainty that we can finish and put it all right tomorrow. The earlier moments hardly signify.
And it is done. We did it the next day (though it took 3 laborious hours).
I said I would deal with the paint soaked brushes, a job we both hate.
When he disappeared inside I wrapped them in some old cloth and stuffed them in the rubbish bin. Why leave them soaking to eventually (2 years later) find them again as he would saying 'here they are'... But to discuss throwing them away would only lead to a discordant moment so why pose an option that need not be one.