"Helping" Brad tile the floor

The one direction that I was given was short and simple: do NOT walk on the newly-laid tile. The first time I walked across it, Brad yelled at me to get off. The second time, I surfed across its smooth, slippery surface while Brad scowled at me. The third time, I skipped across them like they were hot coals. Trowel in hand, Brad gave me my next direction so here I sit, watching him spread out the mortar and carefully place each tile. I also watched, with some resentment, as our little dachshund, Chloe traipsed across the forbidden floor to be happily welcomed by my husband. "She doesn't shift the squares," he said in response to my frown.

After Chloe was finished tromping on the latest tile as though it were a trampoline, she began a stealthy ascent up the forbidden dining room stairs. Steep for her squatty little legs, the stairs present a tempting challenge as Chlo stretches her body up and over each step. I watched her slow progress and then caught my breath as she teetered at the top. Time stopped as my little dog hung suspended in the air, like a dewdrop from a rose, before plummeting to the ground as my scream echoed in the tiled chamber of my dining room. "Wait a second," Savannah interrupted, "I about busted an elbow earlier this afternoon and you couldn't be bothered getting out of your chair to see if I was alright yet when Chlo falls a couple of feet, you fall to pieces?" In my defense, Savannah responds to pain like a wounded animal, more likely to snap than accept sympathy. I prefer to let her pain subside a bit before I approach her. Chlo, on the other hand, clearly needed immediate cuddling and consoling before once more glancing longingly to that missed top step. 

Why are directions so hard to follow? My stepping on those tiles was an automated response similar to when one uselessly flips a light-switch when the power is out. Chloe is looking to elevate her current one-and-a half-feet-from-the-floor status. And, of course, that which is forbidden is just so darn tempting. Stay off the tiles. Stay off the stairs. Stay within eyesight. Stay within the speed limit. Staying within the lines just isn't my and Chlo's style. Unfortunately, that might result in a crooked floor and a broken back so perhaps we might need to reach a compromise. A taped-off barrier might be a handy visual reminder for a forgetful mind and Chlo simply needs a Sherpa for her next summit attempt.