Wednesday, July 20, 2011

I'm an Oak.

Are you as particular as i am?

There are a lot of things in my life that i have learned to just let be. I've learned to relax about someone's socks on the floor. I've learned to look the other way when perfectly intelligent people misspell words i'm sure they should've learned in the second grade. I've even learned that if your house burns down, it isn't necessarily the end of the earth as you know it. I mean, i think i have become a pretty flexible person, all things considered.

Today, i and my fire-fighting-super-hero got to move back into our slightly charred house. The cleaning salesman  fellow who makes a living by contracting folks to clean charred houses, walked through our house with us and had us sign papers saying it was clean and that we approve of his getting paid.  And i have to say that we were fully impressed.  I mean, really.  Reportedly there were something like ten people in my 700 square foot house, just whirring away, cleaning every nook and cranny they could find, and they did a bang up job. They cleaned things that have never been cleaned in this house.  Like ever.

Anyway, (getting back to the point, if there is one), among their cleaning duties was my dishes.  I mean, all of them, everywhere.  The soot had to be removed from every surface.  Every fork, every spoon, every everything.

Well, after we had signed away our approval, my shopping-without-me-super-hero went to the store to pick up a few things, like pillows and sheets and toilet paper, and i went about putting our house in order.  The main pattern i started to find throughout the house is the indication that cleaning people don't necessarily feel the obligation to put things back exactly the way the found it.

I'm o.k. with that.  After all, i just told you how flexible i am.

I put a pizza in the oven, made some tea, went to look for a glass . . .

and started yelling at the strangers who aren't here and can't hear me.  My cup cabinet.  It's just not right.

It is a woman's prerogative to situate the glasses in her cabinet as she sees fit, and they shall not be moved.  Do you hear me?  Do you see this?

"Noooooooooooooooo!  What did you DOooooooooooo?  Oh NOOO!  This isn't RIGHT!  You can't put that THERE!  Oh NO.  This is wrong!"  were the lamentations my chickens could undoubtedly hear from outside the kitchen window.

(You think i'm joking here, and you are mistaken.)

After a solid minute of yelling and picking up glasses that were in entirely the wrong place, and putting them down in a different wrong place, and finding the plethora of wrong places entirely too overwhelming, i finally had to close the cabinet to avoid a full-on break down.  I'm still a little verklempt about the whole thing.  A few minutes later, i found solace in rearranging the silverware drawer, which was so bad i just couldn't ignore it, but easier to fix.

Flexible?  I guess not.

I mean, burn my house down?  Sure.  But rearrange my glasses?

Stand right there while i get my pistol.

Maybe you better leave my cup cabinet alone.  I do have my limits.

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