The realization dawned slowly: I had invited the real estate agent who rents my beach house to dinner.
Why did I do that? It would amount to a beginning-of-season inspection, and the place was a wreck. I have exactly one week from today to get it into pristine shape. Correction: It had to be in shape by dinnertime. Fuck me.
Fortunately, I have two world champion cleaners as houseguests. Unfortunately, one of them is addicted to tennis and was at the bar watching Wimbledon all day. That left one, and me, a world champion slob.
I ran around the house stuffing stuff into closets (from which it will have to be unstuffed and dealt with soon), hanging shades and tidying up shelves, while my friend slaved over toilet bowls and dust. A half hour before the guest was due, the vacuum was still running. And then it was done.
Pass me that pack.
Why I can't stop: It will be dirty again by next week.
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This blog used to be called "Why I Can't Stop Smoking." Well, I did stop smoking. Now I need to stop drinking. The only thing is, every day there seems to be a reason why I can't just yet. It worked before, so—here goes! Today's reason
mr. and mrs. jones
About Me
- Claudia
- The sister of the President of the Garden Club, a former journalist (People, Life) and now vacation rental property manager on an island once known as Claudia's Island, Claudia has honed her bedmaking skills and seldom travels without a truckload of substandard chairs.
1 comment:
Correction. It will be clean until I, the one functioning, cleaning, house guest, departs. Das vacuum, uber alles!
p.s.A good time was had by all, and the guest of honor baked an brought us one of her prize-winning lemon meringue pies.
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