I’m all giggly and excited, because in a couple of days I’m going to meet another wonderful blog-friend for real!
I’ve been reading Miguel’s blog for a long time, and he never ceases to fill me with wonder, that such beautiful word pictures can be painted, and such lovely sentiments can be expressed, and that a person who writes like most people can only dream would want to visit me. . . .
I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time, and now, it’s this week!
The plumber has fixed the shower in the big bathroom, and all the sheets are clean. It’s turned cold and wet here so I put an extra blanket on the guest room bed. I’ve got tomorrow all planned out: I don’t have to be at the college until 5:30, so I’ve got all afternoon to break some paths through the piles of quizzes and tests and books and folded laundry, pile books on the floor so there will be places to sit, and remove all doo-dads from all tables and surfaces so the kittens won’t have anything to swoop off onto the floor. I’m going to dust, AND, (this is how much I love Miguel!) I’m going to. . . . get the sweeper out of the hall closet and USE IT. I’m sure I remember how.
There are several local bloggers who want to meet him, too, so maybe we can arrange a get-together. I can always clear off more chairs!
I want Miguel to be comfortable and to have a good time, and I want everything to be prepared and nice for him. So, naturally, I put a pot pie in the microwave two days ago and it literally blew up. Nothing left but coal-black charred remains. I opened the microwave door and thick suffocating black smoke poured out. I threw the charred dregs out the patio doors, opened all the windows and turned on all the fans. I have scrubbed out that microwave with vinegar, with germ-killing foams, with baking soda, with detergent. . . .it’s better each time but honestly? The whole house stinks.
That’s the kind of hostess I seem to be. I want everything to be nice for a much-wanted guest, so I put a turkey pie in the microwave, burn it to a black charred crisp, blow it up, throw it out, and spend the next eight years trying to get the stank out of the house.
I try. I really do. House Beautiful should give me a prize for effort.
Seriously, sometimes I think I’m like a cow that gives a full pail of milk, and then puts her foot in it.
Miguel will be here Thursday. I hope he can stay a long time. I hope he isn’t disappointed when he meets me. I hope he’s not sensitive to odors. . . .
Oh, man, I am so looking forward to this!
Mamacita, Scheiss Weekly