Unexpected Exile

I'm sitting in my parent's basement, watching MASH with Lucy and Doc. The Orkin man came to day to give the fleas the business. You'd think two giant aerosol cans of flea killer would pretty much take care of the problem. Nope. Jesus H. Tap-Dancin' Christ, you should hear the list of things we have to do:

• Buy a dog sized flea collar and cut it up; put it in the sweeper canister
• Vacuum the house 3 to 4 times a day for at least the next two weeks
• Scrub the linoleum and basement floor with hot water and bleach

I'm exhausted just thinking about it all. It's a good thing I quit school or I'd be dangling out a window about now. Doc thinks we need to stay at Mom & Dad's at least one more night to make sure all the chemicals are gone and to start the vacuuming rituals. We've been here since Saturday night and I miss my bed. I don't miss the fleas though.

I'm trying to look on the bright side of all this. Maybe all the vacuuming will be like swinging two bats on the on-deck circle...it will just get us warmed up to the idea of vacuuming more often. I hate to vacuum. It's noisy and monotonous, like an AC/DC concert. I'd much rather dust, personally, but dusting ain't gonna kill any fleas. Also, all this flea business might mean that I will soon have some brand new carpet in my bedroom to replace the teal green plush from the Emerald City collection that currently lurks under my bed.

I worked so hard this weekend. Friday night: I finished the paper below. Well, it's not really finished. There are plenty of errors, as I noticed when I read it for the podcast. But it was done enough for government work. Saturday, my Mom and Grandma came over while Dad took the girls to his house to play. Mom, Grandma and I swept, picked up, dusted (whee!), packed up and gathered all the laundry we could find and headed off to the laundromat.

We stopped on the way at Milk & Honey, a Canton institution that serves steak burgers and sundaes. We fortified ourselves and started in on the laundry at about 2:30. By 5:45, we had finished nearly 30 loads of laundry.

Oh, by the way, a cute little Asian guy tried to pick me up at the laundromat. At first, I couldn't figure out that he wanted a date. He kept asking if I would be his friend.

"Sure," I said, "I can be your friend."

He mumbled something unintelligible that included street names I recognized. Then he asked me for my number and then offered me his number. I had a flash-forward of him calling me constantly and telling me about his problems with an accent so thick that I'd want to scratch my ears out as my better nature did battle with my bitch nature over whether to stay his friend or ditch him like a sack of rotten bananas.

"Um," I said, looking around for my Mom, "I don't have my phone."

I was able to tear myself away and get back to the task at hand, pumping quarters into greedy washing machines. Later on, as I went to my car to get some baskets, he cornered me.

"Do you want to have dinner tonight?" he asked me, plain as day.

"Uh," I stammered, "Well...I'm married...I've got kids."

"You're married?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes," I said, feeling like I may be out of the woods.

"Oh," he said, "I don't mind."

"Well," I said, "I think my husband would. Thanks anyway though," and I walked away.

He made himself scarce, while he waited for his laundry to finish, talking on his cell phone. I think he might have been a bit of a con artist.

Sunday, I worked on the house, colored my hair (finally) and crashed out on the couch. I was late for work this morning; I couldn't find my keys. Someone had hidden them in my purse. Imagine that! But work was good and I got my hair cut, so I look fabulous. I had a leisurely dinner on my own and finished reading my book. Riley's out cold and Lucy, well, who knows when she'll crash out. She seems to be a bit manic right now. But she's got to sleep sometime, right?

So what, I'm faced with one more night without my bed. At least it's not in a hotel, but rather Mom and Pop's Comfy Couch Inn. And Doc is going to handle a lot of the to-do list this week. Hopefully by the weekend we'll have a new routine that includes vacuuming until our fingers fall off. Dirty deeds...done dirt cheap and all that rot. Wish us luck and send us a post card.

Until then, fleas be not with you.