Dirty Little Secret

Scary things happen when the 'chick is left to her own devices. Redneck had some things that he needed to do last night, so the 'chick had the night to herself. Now, y'all are thinking that the 'chick must have gone bar-hopping or crashed a party or possibly even robbed a convenience store. Not so.

It occurred to the 'chick that it had been a long time since she had cleaned the house. Really cleaned. So, once Rockboy had taken off with his friends, the 'chick got started. Dusting, vacuuming, doing laundry, sweeping the floors, mopping. It was when the mopping started that the 'chick began to suspect that she needed to be medicated. Mopping is not a favored activity at Chez Roadtrip.

The thorazine dart did not help - it only added to this cleaning. . . fervor so to round off a lovely evening, the 'chick washed the light sconces from her bathroom and bedroom, the dining room, the living room, and kitchen.

Don't ever do this. Let Auntie Roadchick tell you why.

If you remove the protective coating of dust, hairspray, cat hair, and who-knows-what-else, then you can really see what needs to be cleaned. That dim, romantic, mood lighting is no more. You now have the equivalent of a surgical suite right in your own home.

It was a little too far past Halloween to pass off the cobwebs as decorations and even the most die-hard Halloween lover would be hard pressed to think that the 'chick was just "planning ahead". So, more dusting: of the ceilings and corners, more dusting of the furniture, more vacuuming of the floor.

Thankfully, the strange mood began to pass and the 'chick settled into bed. Closing her eyes, her mind began racing once more.

Two days. Two days of being mostly at home. Two days. Visions of roast chicken and mashed potatoes began to dance through her head. Followed by desserts: cakes, brownies, cookies, perhaps even another stab at Nemesis Pudding. A grocery list was composed in her head, almost as if she had been hypnotized.

The 'chick fell asleep, conforted by the thought that all this Domestic Goddess business would surely be well behind her come morning.

So, it's morning now and the carpet shampooer is calling to the 'chick. It's a seductive whisper, a promise that "this won't take long and you'll feel wonderful afterward".

The 'chick has to hurry. Rockboy will be home before long.