When Tomorrow Comes

The ones who are extremly fond of cleaning and sticklers for a spick-and-span home should stop reading. Right now. Ignorance is bliss and so forth.

The ones who think it's better with a bit of dirt in the corners than a pure hell, or who share my view about a sparkly clean house being a sign of a life wasted, by all means, keep on reading.

Tomorrow I'm having a friend over for coffee, we don't see eachother often, at all. And yes, generally I do like to have friends over, but at the moment this home of mine looks *slightly* like a disaster area. Um, the easy way out would be to come up with some lame excuse and cancel the date, but she seems quite eager to come over for a chat, and yes, I too think it would be totally neat to meet up, so I don't really see that as a comfortable option.

Of course I could have done a bit of cleaning here, a bit there earlier, but that's not really me. I like to swirl around at the very last minute doing what has to be done. Can't help it, it's in the genes. I have to swallow that bitter pill, lick the dust. Literally.

But, then, almost without exception, at that last minute, I tend to realise I ought to clean a tiny bit more than I first set out to do. Maybe I should use the toothbrush for the doorframes, perhaps the living room floor would like to have a wax, the windows would probably better serve their purpose if one could actually see some daylight through them.

New curtains should be ironed, some new table cloths too. Maybe a few hairballs should look, and smell, better with a bath. The bookshelves should be re-arranged, and dusted. It's always neat to be able to offer homemade cakes, it would be nice to have seven of them. The list of cleanly musts seems quite endless.

So, right now, the late evening before tomorrow afternoon I should be practising my busy bee skills swirling through the house like Pippi Longstocking on two scrubbers. At this very moment I should be vacuuming, mopping some floors, dusting, putting things in order, putting stuff in panic-bags - or in a fine specimen of a red bureau - washing a very hairy and not very clean dog, baking a cake, or two, or three or seven...

Oh my, ho-hum I think the magic threesome right now is bed-book-lights out.