As you may be aware, I have not felt very well as of late. I somehow managed to keep my germs to myself because clearly Dewie feels just fine. I was curled up on the bed reading this afternoon when Dewie bursts into the bed room pushing the vacuum cleaner. She yells over it, “This isn’t bothering you is it?” I guess not. I shook my head, gave her a thumbs up and went back to my book. She takes the vacuum into the tiny bathroom off the bedroom which because it has nowhere to go, amplifies the sound by about 4 thousand percent, and proceeded to vacuum the rug and I guess the tile floor. I read the same sentence about four times before I just put the book down. I can’t concentrate because she’s been in there for 10 minutes and I’m way too curious about what she could be vacuuming in a four by six foot room for that long. Then I hear the higher whine of the hose attachment. Rrrrrrrrrr-eeee-rrrrrrr-eeeeeeeee. What the hell? Is she vacuuming the ceiling? I crane my neck, but it’s no use. It’s an awkward angle and there’s just too much Dewie, machine and moving for me to make out what exactly is going on. I decide to wait it out. She finally comes out and starts down the hall. I peek in the bathroom and sure enough it looks cleaner, but I still can’t see what took 15 minutes. The vacuum roars for another 30 minutes then mercifully shut off. The wheels squeak across the floor and the beast roars back to life. Damnit. She must have just run out of cord. Finally, it shuts off again and this time remains quiet.
Then I smell pine sol. I guess she’s mopping. I hear her yell, “Get comfortable somewhere, I don’t want you to track up my wet floor!” I decided to head toward the living room. The couch has fresh vacuum lines on it and all the small furniture is stacked on top of the big furniture. I make a little nest in the corner of the couch. Dewie flies through with the mop in one hand and a clothes basket in the other. “I have to get the clothes out of the drier.” Ok then. After an appropriate floor drying amount of time I walk into the bedroom to find her changing the sheets. Although ecstatic about clean sheet day, I am more concerned about her sudden burst of manic energy. Her eyes are wide and manic when she yells, “IS THE FLOOR DRY??” I grab her shoulders and look into her eyes, trying the gauge the size of her pupils. I can feel her vibrating under my fingertips. “What?”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. I’m just tired of the dog hair all over the house and the sheets needed changing and when I’m done with this I’m going to warm up some of that soup for dinner, and maybe make some biscuits, you want some nice biscuits?”
“I like nice biscuits.”
Maybe I’ll have time to mow the lawn it’s really nice outside, have you been outside? It’s really nice and there’s a nice breeze.”
“A nice one, huh?”
“Yeah. I might not have time to weed whack, but maybe mow. Do you think the grass is too wet? It’s been raining all day. It’s nice and sunny now though…” As she continues to talk I walk into the kitchen and get a juice cup. I hold it up to her “Has it been sunny long enough to dry out the grass? What? What’s that for?”
“I’m going to need you to pee in this.”
“Pee in that? I don’t have to pee. I can’t pee in that. I’m just in a good mood.”
“You’re acting a little meth-y.”
“I’m not meth-y! I just have this sudden burst of energy. I folded up all the clothes.”
“The nice ones?”
“Shut up.”
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