Oh, my. Have you seen my house lately? No, you have not. And it’s not a matter of you living out of state – which certainly precludes the casual drop-in – but a matter of me letting you in once I see you at my front door.
You see, there's something wrong with my floors.
But where are my manners? You just stay out there on the porch -- let me grab a sweater -- and I'll try to explain this without looking like a lazy jackass.
You see, it’s Spring. It’s well and truly Spring, and I need a full day of cleaning. With the windows open. While wearing a SARS-style mask, gargling with bleach and waving a copy of the King James Bible over my head…
It’s been a good seven months since my windows were open, the dust and what-not driven from my home. There could be anything in the corners. I need to be prepared for any eventuality.
Don’t get me wrong. The house isn’t a complete embarrassment, but the floors are wrong. And I suspect the heating ducts of housing any number of things that are waiting for a chance to settle into my lungs, get their hands on my cash card and take the car for a spin.
You know what I’d like to do? I’d like to move all the furniture out, have the hardwood floors re-done (it’s been almost 12 years), and have the carpets cleaned.
What I’ll probably do? Open all the windows and spend a day moving things from the edges and crawling around on my hands and knees dragging a bucket and a rag.
And to think that I couldn’t wait to grow up.
Twice Hit. Many Times Shy.
11 hours ago