It is a known fact that one's house remains completely clean until one finds out that one is having company. Then the house hunkers down for a fight and starts throwing things out that absolutely weren't there before. Like dust bunnies. Dust bunnies behind doors, beneath jewelry armoires, and next to the box of See's chocolates you hid in the guest room and forgot about until the guests arrived and now you can't go get it because the stinkin' guests are "tired" from their "flight." (Psh. Don't even go there with me. You flew. You're not tired unless you walked here. From three states over. STEP AWAY FROM MY CHOCOLATE.)
Also, like rain soaked soil on a spring afternoon, cabinet doors and windows bloom, bloom I tell you, with fingerprints. And hand prints. And face prints. And in one very strange case that I can't discuss here, a thigh print. Nope. Not going to discuss it. But I will tell you that none of these things were here before my guests announced their visit.
So I start running around the house, frantically wiping up spills, peeling kids from door frames (I have one who likes to shimmy up and hang around at the top. Enjoys the view. And the feeling of dropping onto peoples' heads), scrubbing down floors and sweeping up the bunnies.
But, I'm telling you, the dirt and disorder multiplies. It does! I swear I can see streaky black marks swiping themselves across the bottoms of all my doors as I scramble past. And that inexplicably bald Mr. Clean does NOT get them off with his magic eraser, thank you very much. Apparently the eraser erases hair from strange genie-like men's heads, but it don't do nothin' for my black scuffy door-marks. (Which, by the way, who the heck is walking around on the bottoms of my doors scuffing them up?) (And Mr. Clean did not give me any free erasers to say he can't erase my door bottoms. And yes I know how that sounds.)
Well, I'm not standing for it. From now on I am implementing a strict policy of You Can Only Tell Me You Are Visiting By Posting a Note to a P.O. Box Address Which I Will Not Post Here Because My Computer is in My House, and I Am Certain It Can Read, And Will Sneak Over and Plunder My Mail So You're Going To Have To Guess What the Address Is.
Hah! That should do it.
Or perhaps more sleep and less stress will do it. Been a long week. Maybe I'll go to bed now. 'Night dust bunnies, finger prints, thigh prints, and scuff marks! Mr. Clean can go find a genie lamp to erase. After he brings me my chocolates.
This is a syndicated post. Read the original at Life in Bits2012-06-15.