I have company coming over for Christmas dinner. Since I’m basically antisocial, and rarely get company, this is cause for flying into action. Unfortunately, I tend to avoid housework in favor of just about any other activity, including TV, jigsaw puzzles, and chewing my nails. This means that a) I can barely see my table for all the junk mail and unread magazines, and b) I’m more of a crawl into action kind of girl.
Company requires a bare minimum of clearing the table, mopping the floors, and knocking loose crumbs out of the toaster. At no time do I feel obligated to vacuum the baseboards. My friend feels like this is a dire necessity, and will wrestle with my $2,000 vacuum cleaner (don’t ask) in order to accomplish her objective.
First off, she fears the vacuum, which is powerful enough to suck huge chunks of carpet, electrical cords, and cats off the floor. Undaunted, she set to work on the bathroom baseboards. As she did so, suddenly the toilet paper roll started spinning madly.
Some people don’t do well in emergency situations. While this didn’t hold the drama of a fiery 10 car pile up on the interstate, my friend lost it and couldn’t remember how to turn the vacuum off. She watched helplessly as the roll continued to disappear. One lonely sheet was left clinging to the cardboard like a tattered flag when the vacuum had finally consumed its fill of cellulose.
With my loathing of cleaning, combined with her fear of the diabolical machine from hell, I expect that my house will soon be ranked alongside Chernobyl as toxic biohazards go. While most people would just board up the house and move to a new time zone, my solution is to invite more company over.
At least, my floors will get mopped, but you might want to stick to toast at mealtime.