I say ... And you think:
7. Housewife :: Who marries a house?
And wouldn't you know, no sooner had I written that, I did it.
I married my house.
I loved it. I cleaned it. I played Yenta to my lonely socks and single shoes. I outdid Urho and I made St. Patrick and his snake eradication program look like amateur night. Dust bunnies were dusted, laundry was laundered, old mail was shredded, and suddenly ... I could see FLOOR in my bedroom.
This was big. It was HUGE. But...it wasn't enough.
So, I became a polygamist.
I married my office.
With the skill of a third-generation vintner, I gathered and tossed bunches of paperwork that had aged and ripened into useless scrap paper. I solved month-old problems and managed to have more work go out of my office instead of in. Precarious piles dissolved before my eyes. Even more thrilling than regaining empty portions of desk, was uncovering actual proof that I had a desk.
Like a junkie needing another hit, I grabbed the Formula 409 and started wiping down everything. I wiped my desk. I wiped my phone. I wiped my keyboard. My mouse. If it was wipable, I was wipe-able.
When TinyTuna stopped by my office after school, I convinced her to clean out my file cabinet, otherwise known as supply-central. Boxes of pencils, pens, tape and glue sticks were piled everywhere. When it was all said and done, it was obvious that I am well-prepared should there ever be an unforeseen critical shortage of yellow post-it notes.
The downside of my uncharacteristic clean-a-thon has been my absence from these hallowed pages. I'll be doing my best to rectify that situation, and luckily, there are many stories from the past couple of weeks that cannot go untold.
So, thanks for being patient, and I'll see you tomorrow.
After I do my dishes.
(I'm all out of forks)