So yesterday, I eeked out about 30 minutes of solid TV-watching. And then I whipped out my Eva Peron journal (I don't know why I always insist on "whipping" it out all the time, but let's go with it), and transcribed all of the things I accomplished yesterday.
I don't think anyone but J can truly appreciate this fact, but I don't really do much housekeeping. Don't get me wrong: I will do it. But usually J has to bring it to my attention. Like last Sunday, we arrived home from breakfast and my H said - not unkindly - "Hey, did you ever think about sweeping the porch?"
And I replied honestly, "Um, no. I have never, ever considered sweeping the porch."
Oh, but I swept it. I swept the hell out of it.
So yes, it is very fortuitous that my husband is very neat and clean. Or else we'd really be screwed.
Yesterday, though, high on the freedom from the shackles of TLC, I vacuumed, just because. Because I felt that the second floor needed to be vacuumed. And then I swiffered the first floor, bitches! It was an amazing moment in the life of HomeValley. Then I lit the cranberry candle and sat on the couch with Eva Peron. When J walked in shortly thereafter, he commented: "Wow, it sure feels festive in here."
And then Nurse Racist appeared at our door, knocked (and I swear just walked right in), kicked off her shoes and got ready to take a billion specimens. (We're applying for life insurance, like bonafide grown-ups, and this is apparently all part of the process. )
She threw all of her crap over our dining room table, then began filling out forms with lightning quickness. "Whoa, you're fast," J said. "Yeah, I wanna get outta here before 76 gets backed up." She replied, which is totally what you want in a nurse who's poking needles in your arm in the place you eat your dinner. Speed.
I did appreciate her measurements, however, which actually put me at 5'8" ("Yeah, I round up.") and my weight at a solid five pounds less than normal.
But whilst I was upstairs collecting my urine in a cup, she and J began discussing the Dominican. I am assuming that J mentioned we GOT MARRIED in that country (so may be a little partial to it), when she ranted for a few minutes about how much she HATED it there, and how awful everything was, and how disgusting the people were. And guards carried guns at the resort! And anyway, she was used to vacations where she could walk around outside. And those people were just after rich white Americans. She could feel them eyeing her up at every turn. Scumbags.
(Alright, thank you very much, get out of our house now.)
But she still had to put mah pee in her test tubes, so as she took care of that she began a second rant about a woman in her building who is dating a Turkish guy (I may have missed the part where J told her how much we adored our time in Istanbul), and that the Turk wants this woman to convert to Islam, and she emphatically told her NO! You cannot become a Muslim, this guy obviously just wants a green card. But her neighbor insists that her biological clock is ticking, though she's just 34, and HELLO! Women in their 40s have babies now! Isn't 40 the NEW 30?
(Alright, well, nice meeting you. Drive safe. Get the fuck out of our house.)
When she left, J stood in the kitchen, shell-shocked.
"Well, she was one of the weirdest people ever, huh?"