“We are in the neighborhood and thought we would stop by to see you.”
“Yes, we are about 15 minutes away.”
Gasp! Panic! Some friends are coming to visit me at my house – the dust bunny capital of the world. I hate for people to come over - they will see what a slug of a housekeeper I am. Martha Stewart I’m not.
I’m too busy to be the queen bee of clean. I work, I play, and I have a dog – and having a dog means you have a messy house most of the time. Vacuuming when you have a dog is like brushing your teeth while eating an Oreo cookie. (ok, I stole that from someone, but I don’t remember who, so I can’t give credit to that person. But it is so true! I will be vacuuming and my dog will do his shake thing and little lab hairs fly everywhere!) I take a little bit of Larry where ever I go.
Another strike against me - I live in Arizona – where huge dust storms roll through the valley like tornadoes roll through Kansas. It’s useless to dust – I dust, and the next day I have to dust again. Why bother, is my mantra – so the dust forms and my smart-assed son writes his name on the coffee table, where it stays, until someone announces that they are going to stop by on the spur of the moment. That’s when hubby and I go into high gear. He hauls the vacuum cleaner to one end of the house, and I grab the Soft Scrub and hit the bathrooms. We can make the house decent looking in 30 minutes!
I wasn’t so lucky one day. Some friends called to say they were on our side of town and wanted to stop by for a visit. You just can’t say “No, you can’t come over because I haven’t cleaned the bathrooms in four months.” Unfortunately on this particular day we had just had the exterminator come to rid our cabinets of weevils – how humiliating is that? We had to throw away all our flour-based food and empty ALL the cupboards. We had pots and pans in the living room, packages of food in the family room, dishes stacked in the kitchen – totally embarrassing. So they came over to visit and sat amongst the frying pans and plates, deciding whether or not to call the health department.
Then there are the Julia Childs and Martha Stewarts of the crowd – like my husband’s cousin’s wife (think about it – you’ll get it eventually). They come every year for NASCAR. I’m responsible for tailgating, so I’m under a lot of pressure for the best grub ever. She will fix brochette – I will buy guacamole dip at Costco. She will prepare Texas hash and marinated brats. I cook hamburgers. One year I bought some Hatch chilies, roasted them myself, chopped them up, and made homemade green chili. I’m never doing that again! This year they’re getting pulled pork sandwiches from Pork on a Fork.
So, if you are in the neighborhood wanting to stop by for a visit, be prepared. The tub has a greasy scum, a week’s worth of mail is piled on the kitchen counter, and the sliding glass door has dog snot all over it. Martha, do not judge!