The bug man came today.
Exactly . . . one hour early. Yes, people, he was early.
Who thinks it’s okay to come to someone’s house a full hour before they’re expecting you?
I answered the door in my school-drop-off attire, which consisted of fuzzy red socks, pink pajama pants, and an oversized sweatshirt with a nightgown hanging out from under it.
I’m afraid that I was not able to hide my dismay at his early arrival. He assured me that he would be fine as long as he could get to all the baseboards.
It’s been a busier than expected week. I was behind last week while catching up from Christmas break, and this week hasn’t provided the recovery time I was hoping it would. I’ve done some big things like declutter my daughter’s room, clean the master bedroom and re-discover the floor of my dumping-ground closet, but somehow the overall picking up and vacuuming kept getting put off.
But he was able to get to most of the baseboards, and honestly that helps me see that I’ve come a very long way in this deslobification process.
But what if he reads my blog??? What if he knows that Monday is my Laundry Day and since it’s THURSDAY, there shouldn’t still be unfolded laundry covering the loveseat in the living room? What if he gets a whiff of my boys’ bathroom and is horrified that I obviously have been lying that Tuesday is Bathroom Cleaning Day?
What if he leaves a nasty comment saying that I’m a huge fraud to claim that Friday is Dust and Vacuum Day???? It’s been a lot longer than last Friday since this floor has been vacuummed!!!
Well, I would just have to kindly remind him that this blog isn’t meant to be an organizational guide to anyone. It’s the real-life progress of a real-life slob. And the fact that I didn’t yank my daughter into the back bedroom and hide until he gave up on ringing the doorbell means that I have made progress.
Considering that the last time I called the exterminator, I had to re-schedule at least four times because I wasn’t ready for him . . . I think I’m doing pretty well.
And honestly, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t read this blog. Not sure how I know . . . it’s just a feeling.