I woke up this Morning, realizing that something was wrong. I at first, couldn't put my finger on it. Then I realized what it was. My house is clean, I see the floors, and can actually identify the color.I can walk clear the length of my house without stumbling over something I casually left in the main walkway.
To appreciate where I'm coming from, I have to go back a ways. Back before Debra, back before Jennifer, even. These ladies, in committed relationships, both, took pity, or perhaps more accurately, were concerned about the over all health of the community. You see, I'm a committed slob. Not that I don't appreciate cleanliness, I mean I wear clean clothes and my grooming is reasonably good. I'm a slob because I litter. Not the neighborhood. I wouldn't dream of dropping trash out my car window, or unwrapping a candy bar , then throwing the wrapper to the ground. But, at home, the other side of me arises.
Each section of the Spokesman-Review, as read, drops to the floor in a disorganized tangle. Clothing lies where I changed out of it, generally on the floor. Time to fix dinner, except: I have no clean pans, or skillets, or plates, or flatware left clean. The kitchen counter is a refuse heap from which strange life forms have emerged. Then, and only then, do I realize that my continued existence depends upon washing the dishes. This rule also applies to laundry. Most people do laundry once a week, even though they still have clean clothes. These are sick minds. Overachievers. Neat Freaks. Bachelors don't wash clothes when they are not out. Even then, the local K-Mart or Wal*Mart is close by.
The" bottom line" here,(does this make Kershner's list?) is that, yes, I love living in a neat clean environment. I just don't like doing what gets me there. Recently, I have had help from two different ladies. I don't even think they know each other. Jennifer, with husband Dan, (he fixed a bunch of my plumbing) designated my house as a public health threat a year ago, and plunged in with both my feet. First question."Herb, where's your vacuum cleaner?" Answer: "I dunno. Haven't actually needed it for a while." "Why not," she asked? Answer: "Um, couldn't find the floor, so I didn't need it."
These were apparently unacceptable answers. We found the aforementioned machine hiding behind a door. From then on, the whole scenario started to remind me of some parts of the marital state. You know, bullying, nagging, that sort of thing. Could I sit back and drink beer? Absolutely not. I even had to participate. Would you believe that she wanted me to throw out or give away at least half of my belongings? She asked:"Herb, how long have you been carrying this from home to home?" " That thing? Oh, about 35 years." " When was the last time you used it? Well, I can't remember." Out it went.
Now I have another bully. Debra, the lady next door. She and her husband, Bob, moved in last spring with three busy little dachshunds. They now have the run of the house, as she does. Clean, nag, clean, nag some more, I tell you, this is out of hand. Why just yesterday, I had my son, Daughter-in-law and three Granddaughters over for dinner. (We'll skip the part about me forgetting to turn the oven on for the stuffed chicken dinner that was 2 hours late)
Thanksgiving, found me entertaining three, well six guests. Debra, her husband, Bob and Bobbie chef extraordinaire from the Wheel, and the three Dachshunds. Since my house is now ruined for comfort, I'm starting to entertain.
I finally realized why I felt strange this morning, walking out of my bedroom. Fantastic! I looked up and there to my surprise, was a sink full of dishes. Now I have goals again. I have to wash the dishes ... Just not today.
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