Saturday, November 18, 2006

Come On-A My House ...

Not only is that the title of a tune that I'm workin' on (and tried recording a couple weeks ago, until my adult-onset ADD took over and I got sick of singing it the second time through), it's also my new plan to keep my house clean:

Weekly house guests!

Sure, I can just clean my house every week. But I can tell you that that plan's a dog that just won't hunt. Clean? For myself? For the pleasure of not living amid little dust tumbleweeds? Why would anyone do that when they could watch "Napoleon Dynamite" again? Or catch up on TV shows? Or make Netflix sorry yet again for having me as a customer?

Ah, but Kelley was coming over for our first-ever salon weekend, and the house needed to be spic and span. By "salon," I don't mean hair and makeup. I mean sitting around and talking about a book. You might call it "book club," but on Planet Kelley, "book" and "club" are dirty words. No, worse than dirty: mundane.

So I cleaned. And cleaned. And cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. Hey! It's nice to have a clean house! I even bought ivory roses for her bedside table. I like to think that an overnight at Rancho Kujawski is like a stay at a lovely hotel. My beds are smooshy with down comforters and white cotton sheets and plenty of pillows. A carafe of water is set on the bedside table alongside the roses. The towels are plentiful. Breakfast is made to order.

And where else are you gonna have a pomegranate mimosa with your sausage, pancakes, and eggs?

Kelley is back at home now, but the cleanliness remains. I told my mom she should spend the night once a week.

"You wouldn't clean for me," she said.

But I would. Really. And for her, I'd buy her favorite: daisies.


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