On the second Tuesday of every other month this ludicrously annoying fellow my kids have dubbed "the bug man" comes to collect yet another $75 thus reminding me of my complete gullibility and total suckerness. Each time this blessed day rolls around I watch as Jamie inspects every inch of every room of my home, yard and garage included, for any sign of whatever pest he happens to be "into today." What this means to you, faithful reader, is that every second Monday of every other month I break my neck in the attempt to scrub, sanitize, and de-junk this pit in the hopes of fooling an obnoxious man I can not stand at all into thinking we aren't the completely disgusting neanderthals I rediscover we really are every single time. It also means that should you ever decide to pop in on me unannounced, this Tuesday is the day to do it as my house will be clean and I will have actually showered and put on something other than my over-sized men's pajama pants.
I started pretty early this morning, and I must say I was doing quite well despite the laryngitis and uncomfortable drug side effects I've been so lucky to enjoy as of late. I de-cluttered, rearranged, scrubbed, cleaned out the sofa cushions, and actually moved furniture around to vacuum. By 1pm I'd made such a significant dent in what I needed to accomplish to
Now, this never ends well for me. You think I'd learn. When I bite off more than I can chew this happens. And sometimes this. And even... sigh... this. Unfortunately, today was no exception.
I have been looking at my hardwood floors for months now trying to figure out what went so horribly wrong. Being as this is the first part of my house you see upon entering, I try pretty hard to keep them up. Not that you can tell. I have mopped and polished them religiously for 3 years now, yet they still look dingy and gray and covered in a cloudy film. After some time on the Internet, I discovered my problem (OrangeGlo sucks)and it's ridiculously strenuous solution (saturating the wood in ammonia and water and then scrubbing with all your might one teeny square inch at a time). The crazy in me thought it was a splendid idea to work barefoot, no gloves, no mask, closed windows, face first in ammonia scrubbing with all my might. I scoured every inch, moved every single thing on the floor to be sure I didn't skimp anywhere. I even moved our massive Christmas tree, skirt, and all the gifts I had managed to wrap earlier today.
After 4 straight hours, my wood floors were literally gleaming, smooth, beautiful. I stood there for a couple minutes admiring my handiwork. Then it hit me. I was soaking wet, drenched in ammonia from head to toe. My throat was on fire. My hands, arms, back and neck were screaming in agony. I noticed layers of skin missing from my knees and elbows. I stood there in awe of my utter stupidity contemplating what sort of mess I would make if I walked through the house dripping ammonia and how long it would take me to clean it all up. It dawned on me that no one was around. No kids anywhere to be seen. Dave was conspicuously missing. After the work I'd done today why should I trudge up stairs throughout the whole house and back down again. I could just shuck my clothes right into the washer and then run up the stairs to my shower before anyone was the wiser.
I should just stop here. You all know what's coming.
I stripped completely and scooped up all the dirty linens I'd used on the floor to put in the washer. I stood there completely naked as I watched the washer fill and added the soap. I walked completely naked through the kitchen, the living room and was stopped completely naked in front of the picture window admiring my pretty floors one last time when a very shocked Dave standing at the bottom of the stairs said... "um.. you know the pizza guy just pulled into the driveway, right"? Wait. He ordered pizza? I was literally a deer in headlights for a minute. A very naked deer. They were shining straight in my face. I hadn't even noticed for the beautimous gleam of my shiny wood floors.
I stood there for a minute not knowing where to go. Couldn't go upstairs, I'd have to pass in front of the door. Couldn't go through the kitchen to the laundry room. I'd have to pass the picture windows again. Certainly couldn't stay there. I finally bolted back behind the love seat covering...well...not very much.. with my hands. To add insult to injury, as I was cowering (desperately trying to convince myself that the chuckling pizza guy didn't really see anything, my dear son shows up out of nowhere and hollers "Hey Mom, why are you nekkid back there" insuring the pizza guy had one more grin at my expense. There was nothing I could do. There was nowhere I could go, so I stood there dripping on the floor all red knees, elbows