I'd love to blame it on my Mother. From the time I was a very young
child I knew that it was important to keep one's home clean and tidy
and frankly looking presentable. On days of high frustration (usually
when she couldn't get help from her messy offspring who seemed to wreak
havoc wherever they roamed) she occasionally delivered The Mother's Curse: "When you're an adult, your home is going to be a horrid mess." Or some variant.
I could, of couse, take regular time out for cleaning activities. I do so love a clean house. But it's ever so much more fun to sit at my desk, looking neither to the left nor the right, or wander through my garden with shears and a bucket for discarding the weeds. (Okay, fine...I haven't done this in a while, but sometimes I do.) Or a bottle of RoundUp. It's more fun to roll out balls of clay and form them meticulously into shapes that will one day be worn around the necks of my proud customers or their loved ones.
I still should clean my house more often.
Dena, a friend and colleague, suggested a date and time for our next meeting. This time, though, we need to access the Internet. She kindly and perceptively suggested perhaps I wouldn't mind driving to her house. She lives rather far away from our usual meeting place that's within walking distance from my house.
MELODY...CLEAN YOUR HOUSE ALREADY!!!! I mean, what's the big deal woman?! She was, as I mentioned, too kind to remind me she's never been permitted to come visit me here.
So Dena has now been invited to visit me in my home where we will have a gloriously productive meeting, no doubt eat something chocolate and amusing ourselves with our oft overpowering wit and wisdom.
Either that or I'll have to run away and not tell her where I've gone.