As my darling daughter prepares to graduate, I am busy preparing our house to receive guests on Saturday. And believe me, it is not in any shape to be receiving guests. It's not even in any shape to receive rodents. This is what happens when one harms their foot and decides to rest it occasionally instead of cleaning the house.
Oh who am I kidding? Even when my foot is able-bodied it doesn't propel me anywhere near the clutter in the house. It turns the other way and heads out the door.
But I took a serious assessment of that clutter today. And it's not so pretty.
We have a maid ordered for Friday and the carpet cleaners are coming in right behind her. And because we have been kitchen-tableless for three months, we have one of those arriving tomorrow. I figure that people will need somewhere to sit and eat at this shindig.
So, since the table is due to arrive tomorrow morning... I calmly and quietly asked Elizabeth to sweep up the dog hair in the kitchen. It is her dog after all. And it is her party, too. The table's mine though.
Know what my darling daughter said? "Why? It looks fine to me. And besides, I just cleaned it."
And after quite an exchange of words, I convinced her that no, she did not just clean the kitchen and even if she had, it does tend to get dirty over and over again.
She insisted that she did clean it on a regular basis. But I insisted that as spotless as it looked to her, she was to get the broom and sweep it again. Just in case.
Know what she said then?
"Where do we keep the broom?"
Like I said...
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