The house is so clean you could eat off the floors. The furniture is glowing with lemon Pledge. All windows are without cat-nose smudges. I’m a master at baking. My Nonna’s donated curtains are ironed and smell like her laundry detergent. The bed is made. The bathroom is sparkling and all of the towels are clean. The bills are paid, the picket fence is painted, the cd’s are in alphabetical order. We have plenty of ice, the newly planted herbs are growing. I’m knitting scarves and cell phone cozies for everyone one I know, in bizarre colors from leftover yarn. Papers are filed and I can find anything in the house in 30 seconds. All of our clothes are folded and put away, winter clothes in storage. Reservations are made for vacation in Jersey. There are no pens in this house that don’t write, all pencils are sharpened. I finished all of the Washington Post crossword puzzles in their online archives; I have answered every possible clue about Napoleon’s exile in Elba. There is nothing under the bed except a rarely-used suitcase. I have discarded all old makeup according to Style magazine’s chart. I take extremely long showers. I know every stray cat in a 3 block radius. I have taught my cats to come to me when called. I have seen every Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode at least twice. I have written multiple versions of a cover letter all saved under a different file name for easy access. I’ve tried every exercise program on the Comcast On Demand channel. My personal favorite is Pilates. The Yoga instructor is a lunatic, no one can get in those positions. The woodwork is clean and there are no dust bunnies in this house. The dry goods are stored according to the Joy of Cooking’s ‘Pantry Tips’. I know exactly how many tablespoons of butter equal a third of a cup.
Martha Stewart would be proud.
I am going mad.
