When my husband first announced his retirement to my 91 year old mother, she giggled and then asked if he was going to be – underfoot.
Now my mom is of a certain age, where she doesn’t remember everything, and sometimes she fails to filter her thoughts.
My husband was a little hurt by this, and I don’t think we had really ever used or heard the term – underfoot. The term implies that he would get in the way a little bit – I think.
While he has taken a while to find his interests, he makes an effort at all times to not be underfoot.
I can say that I am extremely lucky that he is always there for me. That the coffee is made before I wake up. My flowers are watered. The dog is walked. He’s a much better housekeeper and chef and the list goes on. A glass of pinot grigio is handed to me when I sit on the porch in the evening. The list goes on. Perhaps I am underfoot?