I thought the holidays were suppose to be a joyous occasion. Whether you’re celebrating the Solstice, Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanza or just the commercial glee of it all, there is suppose to be a merriment that warms your heart and tickles your soul.
My heart is full of dust and my lungs are full of bleach fumes.
Tomorrow night is Earl’s company Christmas party. And it’s here. In our house. I guess I’ll have to finally pick up the wine glasses scattered about from last year’s Christmas party. Maybe I’ll go crazy and scrape up the petrified chip (complete with dip) that someone tried to hide under the sofa*.
Actually, I’m looking forward to the occasion. It’s not often that we entertain in the house and it gave us an excuse to chase the dust bunnies back under the furniture. It’s just so much work to get ready for the party. The floors need to be polished, the towels need to be fluffed, the toilets need to be scrubbed. I guess we’re going to have to aim better when we pee in the dark from now on.
All this work is because we’ve got everything backwards. We have a lawn service to mow our grass through the summer, but we plow or snowblow the driveway ourselves. When we lived in the small house, we had a cleaning lady that came twice a month to scrub the place from top to bottom. We moved into a house twice the size and we now we hose everything down ourselves and call it “good enough”.
At least our hearts are full of merriment this season. And our merriment is squeaky clean.
* I really had the urge to type ‘davenport’ instead of ‘sofa’ up in that paragraph. I have no idea why, I haven’t heard someone refer to a couch as a davenport since 1993 or so and that was when my grandmother was heading in to senility.
