Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content.
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| Like The Queen Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content. |
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0 Comments:Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Wednesday, April 14, 2004 I suspect it will be difficult for me to say anything about anything for the next week or so, as GuysWithPaintbrushes do things inside my house. In a very manly fashion. With gusto and precision. With that particular strength double X chromosomes enable brawny arms, even when slender, to display. And leaving in their wake the most extraordinary heaps and piles and cascading tumblings of possessions. We have done nothing to prepare for the advent of GwP. In my secret place of honesty, deep within my heart, I never thought any would show up. Each year, when I'd take down the Christmas tree I'd have to really look at the condition of my walls. Each year, when the sweaty sticky grunge of late summer would have me scrubbing them down, I'd curse and yearn for GwP to come make it all go away with their lavish, sweeping arms. But the thought of moving all that stuff out of the way, of disconnecting speakers and stereo and oh Lawsee those piles and piles and PILES of paper; magazines, letters, souvenirs, sheet music, books, and books and books and books and books. What about that collection of pottery atop the closet? All that stuff acquired when one stays in the same house 23 years. I am too lazy to move it all. And BD, lord love him - would probably break it if he wasn't his and he didn't know what it was for. So we talked about hiring painters. We interviewed painters. We got estimates from painters. But we never really hired a painter. Even when we did hire painter, I didn't believe he'd show up. After all, that was last fall. Who would believe some GwP you talked to in November would actually show up wP in April. I promise you - even when he called last Thursday and said he'd be here on Monday I didn't believe him. And I was right to do so. He didn't show up on Monday. But he came yesterday. I have never been one to brag about my housekeeping. I like things to be modestly tidy and for visible and usable surfaces to actually be clean on a somewhat regular basis. I will make them so at times and I will pay the marvelous Sheryl to do so at other times. I don't pull large appliances away from the wall to clean behind them. I do not think it is important to eliminate things I can't see. Who knows if they are even there? Why go looking for trouble? Oh - maybe my allergy detectors wish I would, but I am not going to. I well remember when the man came to put in the gas lines for my stove - and how horrified he was at my housekeeping. How condemningly smug he was when he told me that he'd left me lots of gas line so I could pull the stove away from the wall and clean behind it. In a deadpan, offended and haughty tone I informed him that the next time anybody cleaned behind that stove would be when he came back to install a new one. My ability to look elsewhere is prodidgeous and how fortunate this is so. It's a wreck here. It's a brand new baby beginning of a wreck. It is going to grow into a full blown teenager of a wreck, and then a lusty manly wreck, long before it shrivels into a wizened and aged wreck that will eventually die, at which time I'll sweep it up, toss it into the trash can, and settle back into my BeeUTeeFul clean fresh bright sparkly home. Ahhhh. posted by Bess | 7:52 AM |
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