If It’s Spring, There Must Be Cleaning

Good Lord, was that the most dragged-out winter or what?  Even I, a confirmed winter-lover because of the handknit socks, mitts, cowls, scarves, hats, sweaters, etc. was getting a bit weary at it all.  But lo, a subtle shift in  the air: the TV weather slackers forecasters have not uttered the word snow in a while, nothing’s being predicted in inches or windchill, and nobody’s standing in a six-foot drift “reporting” on how high the snow is.  (No, I’m not at all bitter that someone who is wrong more often than right gets paid six figures to do it.)

Hibernation apparently happens at Chez Tea and Sarcasm, because it’s as if I’ve slowly woken up and blinked, reacquainting myself with my surroundings.  When did all this crap get here?  How many coats can four adults need at once?  Are thirty pieces of hand-warming accessories really necessary?  And what I really mean is, are they necessary for festooning the couch?  (Just because I knit and gift these things doesn’t mean they should be carelessly strewn about the house like so many Hansel-and-Gretel-breadcrumbs.  So don’t think you can blame me is all I’m saying.)  The sun is shining, but the windows look a bit….foggy.  It’s as if there’s a ghost hanging out, filtering all the good strong sunlight and keeping us in a dim cavern.  I guess somebody should get out the Windex.

For heaven’s sake, how did the kitchen floor turn from beige to grey?  I’m sure it was clean yesterday, what in the world happened?  Somebody must have come through with combat boots that they trekked through the Amazon (or the backyard) and forgot to wipe their feet.  And why is it nobody in this house can manage to have their garbage actually land IN the garbage can?  My lower cabinet is a treasure trove of near-misses that tell a fascinating tale, one that include plenty of tea bags.

To be fair, we did have that burst pipe and the resulting construction take over the house for over a month, and if you’ve ever had construction you know what the dust situation is like.  All I can say is thank Bob for microfiber cloths because they snag that stuff better than anything.  It’s truly terrifying to see all the nooks and crannies that stuff gets into, and make me wonder what kind of dust mites they might breed.  But oh, lordy, all I want to do is empty the house and start fresh by interviewing each piece before I let it back in the house:

“All right, then, decorative book of Grammy Award winners, why should I hire you?”

“Well, I was hoping you’d use me in your music classroom,  I have a lot of cool facts and pictures, and I look so stylish!”

“Considering I’m not teaching any longer, do you think your skills are still relevant for the changing environment of decorative coffee-table books?”

“Look, it’s not my fault that I’ve been trained to do one thing well.  Perhaps if you had a professional development session for those of us needing new skills…..”

“It look like our interview is at an end.  Thanks for coming in to see us, but I don’t see this house being the right fit for you.  Good luck at the library book sale, though.  Oh, and on your way out, could you please send in the Norman Rockwell collectible mugs?”

Except rats.  I hate rats.

Except rats. I hate rats.


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