Cleaning: It May Be Contagious

The great thing about doing your own cleaning, especially if you are me, is how much mileage you can get out it. It's sort of like household chemo.

Like the other day, Husbandrinka came home with our kids, plus my son's friend and the friend's mother. Well, the mother is also my friend, but that's like totally extraneous to the story and if there's one thing that I hate it's when people go off on some inane tangent and then can't figure out how to get back to their main point so you're sort of reading a lot of nonsense and can't even remember what the original post was about or why you're still reading or your own name, because the writer has deadened every brain cell that you have.

Anyway, they all come back and my friend says, "so what should we do with the boys this afternoon?" and I'm thinking, "anything the hell away from here would be just grand!" but of course I can't say that because Mother's Day is next weekend and what kind of a moron do you think I am, anyway? So, I say, "I don't know, I have to do some more cleaning around here," and sigh dramatically and she starts getting really uncomfortable because what if this fucking pre-poverty is contagious and so she says, "I'll take them to the pool" and I exhale dramatically and say, "are you sure you don't mind, I just have another bathroom to clean and then the kitchen and the laundry," and she's shaking her head, no, she'd love to take them, have a great day, door slam. Scene.

Which is great, because it really clears up the afternoon for blogging.