This weekend Dan is having a New Year’s Eve party.
Which, in a roundabout way, means we’re all having a New Year’s Eve party.
Dan has always been better at having company than I am. When we were married, there was a regular stream of visitors to our house on Farmington Road. Chess and Risk games lasting until the wee hours.
When we divorced, Dan got custody of most of the friends so I haven’t really had a problem with visitors.
We live all together now, though. It happens here in our shared household as well. Where I tend to shy away from company and worry about what the sticky spots on the floor might say about me or what the piles of laundry convey, Dan has, apparently, infinite huge amounts of self confidence and doesn’t bat an eye to have guests whenever.
It’s generally agreed upon, though, that an organized event requires a bit of upkeep. Especially after Christmas and 2+ weeks of people being home a LOT. We are currently serving as host to an over abundance of wrappers, dust, mismatched socks, and unbatteried Wiimotes. Not to mention the deceased tree occupying the open spot of wall and spitting crispy tendrils in every direction.
Is it just me, or does Conway Twitty look like he would smell like a truck stop?
Tomorrow has been designated cleaning day for the indoors. Normally I hate it, but after looking over the guest list on Facebook I have been seized with cleaning juju.
I don’t really expect it to last. I hope it holds on until tomorrow.
Why is cleaning so hard? Why can’t it be fun, like riding a roller coaster or masturbation?
That needs to be looked into.