Friday, April 11, 2008

Housewifery Horrors

I realize that Rebecca has had her troubles with keeping a neat and tidy house. Those of us who have the great good fortune to live near Rebecca know this not only because she wrote about it or even because Wonder Woman couldn't wait to gossip about it, but because she, more often than not, threatens us with bodily harm if we dare to suggest an unexpected visit to her place might be a congenial way to spend an afternoon.

To borrow an expression from Rebecca that she uses frequently - pffft!

You ain't got nothin' on me, sister.

One day, nearly 2 weeks ago now, I had gotten up fairly early, but had not yet showered. I was expecting a quick visit from a friend who planned to drop off a few films for me to return to the video store for his family since they were on their way to a family vacation. Let me carefully say that again. I was expecting a child to pop up at the door, hand over the films, accept a hearty "Have a great time!" and leave.

Instead of my usual morning tidy-up, I decide to while away the time spent waiting for my friends playing the absolutely riveting game of Supercow. I hold my head up high and offer no apologies for this use of leisure time. However, given what happened, it would have at least been nice to be deeply involved in something that required more brain cells than stomping on numerous nefarious possessed farm criminals in order to fulfill my mission as savior of the barnyard. Picture if you will this scene:

  • Two large baskets overflowing with clean, unfolded laundry atop the sofa - partly because one does have to admit the sofa is a handy surface to set things upon and partly because the stupid dog will not stop jumping on the sofa for a comfy nap spot when I'm out of the room necessitating the use of barriers.


  • Said sofa with rip in the arm because of the above mentioned stupid dog (which, if I'm honest, I have to say I'm not terribly broken up about because we're buying a new sofa).


  • Books piled haphazardly all through the room - tables, bookcases, various other available surfaces.


  • Kitchen. Well, let's just say that it was looking a bit used.


  • Hall bathroom. Dear God. It doesn't even bear thinking about.


  • And me . . . playing Supercow.


Pulling me away from my vital barnyard mission, I answer the expected knock on the door. Did I see the sweet face of a child waiting to hand me a couple of DVDs? Well, yes. But that's not all I saw. I saw every damn one of the vacation party on my doorstep. All 6 of them. The four that I know extremely well and two that I know little about other than the mother keeps an immaculate house. Immaculate. As in no unfolded laundry. No dirty dishes. And, God help us, no bathroom that looks like it was recently used by a rugby team just off a muddy field.


Great.


At first I thought everything was going to be okay. Foolish of me given the fact that within a second or two of my startled greeting, I was told everyone needed to use the bathroom. Yes, that bathroom. Of course there are two other bathrooms in the house. While my bathroom was indeed actually clean, one had to tramp through the bedroom to get to it - something no one other than someone training for an Everest expedition relishes. The remaining one was utilized by the children, but given the fact that it's always utilized by children it's state of cleanliness was as questionable as the hall bath.

I need to stop relating this horror to you all now. The memory of this is obviously far too fresh to allow any more detail. My only solace then, and now, was the planning of a prodigious amount of innovative punishments for my middle daughter whose job it was to attend to both the kitchen and bath before she left for the day.

Comfort and solace comes in odd places sometimes.

1 comment:

countrymouse said...

It's really hard to read blogs when one is covering one's eyes and cowering . . . I have had *way* too many scenes like the one you have painfully described. So many, in fact, that one would think I'd learn to quit playing solitaire and hunting around on iTunes and maybe tidy up a bit. Or a lot. Or burn the sucker down . . .

Alas and alack . . . I have learned nothing at all from my 40 year sojourn. If the premise of "Defending Your Life" is true--I'm in deep sh*t.

My sincerest apologies for the nightmare visited on you by your "friends."