Friday, July 31, 2009
Fun and Games
Just like with buses, you wait all year round for your family and friends to show, but then when they finally deign to favour you with a visit, they only have to all turf up at once, en-mass, don't they?
I knew well in advance of my big sister's up-coming visit, and have been virtually counting the days down - oh yeah, I'm looking forward to it no end. As it happens, the timing is perfect - my eldest is off to Spain on the day she arrives, conveniently freeing up sleeping quarters for her.
Less than one week after my sis' departs I also have Andy and his new wife coming over, but that's fine, we have almost a week to relax and recuperate before slotting the next round of entertaining in, haven't we? No worries.
But that's when the phone rang from my dearest mate, Little Ally - and guess what? Her partner is only going off on a fishing trip, isn't he? What a perfect opportunity for her to slope in for a quick visit, eh? And it is. I haven't seen her in yonks, and it'll be wonderful for us to catch up again.
It's just.. sigh.
Well, I'll have three continuous weeks of playing hostess, won't I? See, Hubby is not the most sociable of creatures, bless him. He likes a quiet life, and in all honesty, he's happiest when he has me all to himself. I know he's gonna' sulk. He doesn't mean to, he just does. It gets embarrassing (eyes skyward) there are only so many excuses I can make for him. He doesn't set out to be rude, but he usually succeeds. He's horrified if I tell him he's upset someone (again), he never quite gets it, and is genuinely, honestly, hurt and puzzled as to what he has done wrong this time. I can see where Sam gets it from - wink.
Still, there is an up-side - the only time this house sees any "Spring-clean" is if it's under threat of imminent invasion. I have but one small week left to turn this midden heap before me into the gleaming palace I like to kid my guests we live year round in.
Oh, it's not as though they'll be donning any white gloves to check out the dust levels, nor any such thing. These folk are laid back, they are my friends, it's me they are coming over to see, definitely not the state of my house. I know this, of course I do, I do.
Doesn't make a scrap of difference.
My family hates it before anyone comes to stay, they walk around on egg-shells. I transform into a stalker, scowling and muttering, I lurk about spitting through gritted teeth, "Don't you dare to make a mess!" Or screaming, "I just cleaned that!"
The kids develop nervous tic's. I don't know why I get so anal, but I do. I'm back to my slovenly self the moment the first house guest crosses the threshold, it doesn't bother me in the least if the place is then subsequently trashed - just so long as it is absolutely spotless on the day they arrive.
I guess I really am my mother's daughter, she was more than a little compulsive herself - but er, wasn't she also completely nuts? Oooh Lordy, it's a bit worrisome really, isn't it? I could get the family to help, but they never do it right, well, not right enough for me - it's quicker and less stressful to simply do it myself.
Ah, it's only the build up that's bad, we always have a wonderful time in the end. I have a fantastic few weeks in store, I simply need to slip on my old rags and to charge up the i-pod. There's a little scrubbing, cleaning, fumigating, polishing, washing, airing, sterilising and bagging up to do around this place..