My husband went to work on a Saturday, so I spent my morning on my hands and kness. No, perv, not sexy times. I was scrubbing my kichen floor. By hand. I could see every stain and smudge up close and personal, and ew! This house is inhabited by pigs, obs. Thank goodness we got variegated tile. That way the dirt just blends in until I'm motivated to get down on the ground and do this again, which, seriously? I will never do this again. We have small dogs, it's their freakin' job to hoover up the crumbs and spills. Maybe not the coffee stains, I don't want to peel their fuzzy butts off the ceiling fans, but the stepped on bits of salad or bagel, the sugar crumbs or bits of chicken juice, all gold mine territory for a dog, right? Fine, the dogs are fired.
In between rolling up my shirt to check for a newly formed six pack - I've been scrubbing tile by tile with the microfiber cloth for over an hour now, that totally counts as exercise - I was thinking deep thoughts. First, how lucky we are to own a home. We moved in about a year after we were married, and this house was totally not to my taste.
"You can change everything cosmetic" our realtor gushed, by which she meant everything about the kitchen, bathrooms, flooring and lanscaping. "All it needs is time and money" Uncle Bill sagely advised.
And seventeen years later, I can look back wistfully at my youth and ignorance. I have not launched a career as a successful mystery novel author writing about a smart, funny female detective who lives in an old farmhouse in Utah where she throws fabulous Saturday dinner parties and has everything going for her except an unfortunate prediliction for dating up and coming young rock stars. With six packs. Where is MY six pack, it's been an hour already???
So that hasn't happened yet, and I have not built up my bank account from the sale of said fantastic mystery novels, or from sheer back-breaking hard work, either, but still, I have a wonderful life and am so lucky.
Would I like to change some things about this house? Oh, yes, please!! I am not greedy. I don't require marble or granite countertops. Also, I'm klutzy and would totally kill an expensive marble or granite counter in like, one day, and then hate my life forever while I stared at kitchen wine stains, waaah, so a nice granite looking laminate would be fantastic. Seriously. And a self-cleaning oven.
Secondly, I saw all my broken, raggedy ass nails and thought, 'when I die, I want my husband's second wife to be totally high maintenance, so he can appreciate all the money I'm saving him by not going for manicures or spa treatments'. Never mind that I have cootie phobias and hate to be touched by strangers, he should appreciate me more after I'm dead.
Lastly, I think heaven has dogs. If not, I'm not going, just telling you now. But heaven does so have dogs. And they are just like here on earth dogs. The people in heaven will be better, because their bodies will be made whole, the blind will see, the wheelchair people will walk, and our bodies will be inhabited by enlightened souls. It happens by God fairie unicorn magic, the Bible says so. And our dogs will be there, only no enlightened souls, they will just be like normal dogs. Why would you want them different? Living is hard enough. Once you are dead and have been promoted to heaven, things should be easy. All our friends and dogs will be there. And my countertop upgrade.
I finished half the kitchen, up to the breakfast bar, and because I am amazing and I worked very hard, I ate a brownie. Shhh! I earned it! No six pack yet. But I am waiting. Those abs should be popping out any minute now.
Love you more than my countertops,
Mrs Baker
