So I’m lying in bed this morning, mapping out my day, as one does during those precious moments between waking up and having to get out of bed.
The day promised to be satisfyingly productive, but not overwhelming … TKO at the gym; phone a client who might possibly be getting annoyed with trying and failing to reach me on the phone (just email me, already. I’m a writer and I respond better to the written word!); dentist; a few hours in the office; etc etc.
Then my husband casually mentions that he has a TV crew coming to the house to interview him for a business profile.
The house looks like a crime scene, the bunny is stinking up the entire main floor, the fish is swimming in green jelly, and … well, again, the house looks like a crime scene!
Now, I have been told that I am addicted to the exclamation mark. While I can’t go cold turkey, I have been trying to cut down. But, really a situation like this clearly calls for multiples, and yes, even ALL CAPS!!
Suddenly my main priority for the day became creating the fake house. In a way it’s a mixed blessing because the possibility of being arrested for child neglect based on the condition of my clutter to floor space ratio was slightly worrying me. There’s nothing like the threat of exposure to prompt a good clean-up.
Still, a little notice wouldn’t have gone amiss.
Given the time restraints I’ve had to be satisfied with a Level 3 Clean, which translates to ‘respectable if you don’t look too hard’ (Level 2 being ‘clean enough for company’, and Level 1 being ‘have a good old poke around – it’s spotless’; a condition it hasn’t been in since shortly before we moved in).
Now my brilliantly planned day is all ruined, and if I have to console myself with chocolate and trashy sitcoms then it’s clearly not my fault.