June 23rd, 2011

Now I don’t like to gripe…. Okay. That is a complete lie. I LOVE to gripe. I consider it a contact sport and think it should be added to the Olympics line up.

Allow me to set the stage for my latest tale: we’ve been away from home for 10 days.

We have cats….more cats than we probably should. Let’s just leave it at that.

But the cats have been home the last 10 days: scritchy-scratching the area rugs we have; shedding their winter coats on our chocolate brown corduroy couch and my maroon fabric easy chair; getting into and demolishing the linen cabinet. Generally making the absolute worst mess possible to punish us for leaving them.

Add to that we are in the process of cleaning out Mr. J’s apartment. We stopped there on our way home and both of our cars were packed to the brim with boxes, luggage, dirty laundry, etc.

Bottom line: the house is a disaster area and since I’m on day three of a migraine when I get home from work last night I don’t anticipate the status of the house changing from ‘disaster’ to ‘passable’ anytime soon.

Mr. J comes downstairs from his office greets me and then says, “My boss is in town and we’re going to meet here tomorrow afternoon.”

What did he say?

My eyes sweep the entire downstairs area of our house. Yes: just as bad as I thought.

Dumbfounded I just blink at him.

“Oh, and can I borrow your car since my car is still full of boxes.”

My car?

My car that has been on a 10 day road trip and is filthy from stem to stern? There are bugs embedded in the front of that car that will NEVER come off.

Heavy sigh.

Heavier sigh.

The pain in my head doubles. Someone please wake me up from this nightmare.

Because, unlike some people, cleaning is NOT my thing. I don’t enjoy it under any circumstances. I have friends who love to clean. It relieves stress for them…I always invite them over but so far, no takers.

Me? I’d rather iron my tongue into tiny pin tuck pleats than clean the house!

Three and a half hours later, sweat stinging my eyes, I consider collapsing on the couch but then that would have to be cleaned too!

Just to be clear: Mr. J was helping. He had to move all of the boxes appropriated from my car and the ones he’d moved from his car upstairs. (I made him swear an Unbreakable Vow that he’d let his boss know I have no control over the upstairs of the house.)

So I’m standing at the front of the house after sweeping off the porch wondering if I have time to go purchase a pressure washer when, with a critical eye, I ponder what our would look like to Mr. J’s boss? I mean, our house is nothing to be ashamed of. It is a nice townhouse. But there is nothing extravagant about it either: no excessive amounts of square footage. No travertine marble imported from Italy. No hand-painted murals on the walls.

On the other hand: we did just update the kitchen. Unfortunately during the process the faceplate on the microwave was broken off and frankly it looks pretty darn ghetto.

Hmmmm…maybe Mr. Bossman will give Mr. J a raise since we obviously can’t afford a new microwave, let alone a maid!