Like That Annoying Skinny Girl, Complaining That Her Boobs Are Too Big

So, my parents came over to the house the other day, without any warning.  They also brought some friends of theirs, friends from Lubbock, Texas, friends I had not seen in quite some time. 

This was really great, especially since at the time of their arrival (did I mention it was unsolicited?) I was standing on the back porch, covered in paint and caulk (oh yes, the caulking continues) and my house was a complete disaster.

I am not one of those people who will walk you through her spotless home, swabbing at dust mites floating through the sunbeams, brushing imaginary dirt off of a tabletop and straightening cushions, all the while apologizing for how the house is "such a mess!".  No, if my house is clean, and you happen to drop in I will probably say something like "whoa, what luck!  My house is clean!  Want a drink?"  and then we'll get out some wine and have a merry time telling stories or something.  I'm not going to pseudo-apologize for my pseudo-mess.

So, when I say my house was a disaster, well, I mean it.  There were dirty dishes piled in the sink, the wood floors looked more like floored woods, what with the pine needles and dirt scattered about, and I don't know if you've been keeping count, but since we added Lydah to the mix, we now have three animals running around Casa deCarter.  And they all shed.  A lot. 

A brand new bag of puppy food graced our dining room table; a fitting centerpiece to the leash, three piles of unopened mail, and halfway-unpacked suitcase all seated in various dining room chairs.  Someone with distinct paw prints had tracked white paint all through the living room, and the study was completely covered in newspaper.  No, we aren't paper training the dog.  I don't know why the newspaper was strewn around in such a manner.  Bad sports scores?  Someone threw up?  Your guess is as good as mine. 

No fewer than 18 single and unmatched shoes lurked in corners, between couch cushions, and, inexplicably, on top of the kitchen island.  Porch plans and pencils and pads of graph paper lay haphazardly in a pile mixed with the remnants of an old photography project I had been working on, "project" meaning "putting all those old photos in an actual album".

The house was such a mess, really, that it was hopeless to pretend otherwise.  Times like those, you just have to grin and announce to everyone that, well, we just got a puppy, and our house is a wreck!  Oh well, at least you know we live here!  I mean, it's lived in!  I mean, you know, we're real.  Right? 

It was excruciatingly humiliating.  But there was nothing I could do about it, short of locking them out of my home, barricading the door, and telling them NO, it's too messy, I just COULDN'T.  And that never works at all, because inevitably at that point everyone starts telling you how it couldn't possibly be that bad, and how they don't care, and how their house is messy, too!  All the while you're thinking, oh believe me, it can be that bad, it is that bad, and if your house has ever looked this way then believe me, you did not let people inside.  And then they give you a funny side hug, and say, pshaw, we're coming in, we came to see YOU, after all!  And then everyone comes inside and dies a slow and painful death.  Also, no one has anything to drink to assuage their dying, because all the cups are dirty, in the sink.  Sorry!

I was all prepared to read my mom the riot act after they left.  In fact, as everyone toured the house, room to room, and I descended into subsequent levels of hell, I was planning my diatribe.  How dare you?  I would say.  Don't you have any manners?  Any common decency?  I don't care if you tried to call my cell phone and the house phone and Cody's phone and no one answered (they did, and we didn't) - you should know better!  You carried me for nine months and then lived with me for nearly 20 years.  You know I'm a disgusting slob!

But once again, my mother bested me.  On their way out, as she was getting into the passenger's side of the car, she let loose with this gem: "Oh Elise, by the way - we can't use our timeshare week this year, so if you and Cody want a vacation sometime this summer, it's yours."

Game, set, match, MOM.

So, where should we go?

Comments

[Amy]

Amazingly, that sounds a lot like my house. Minus the caulking.

[Jerri Ann]

she played you like a drum didn't she, hehehehe, that sounds like my house since we started this buying our own business ordeal

[janet]

you are a fabulou writer. Your posts make me wish that Tyler TX was a little closer to....well ANYWHERE! How about hubby and I join you on your timeshare vaca????

What are your choices?

[elise]

It's one of those exchange the week things - so pretty much anywhere!

That's so bad for me, though, because when I have unlimited options I think I have to pick The Best One and slowly drive myself insane. I need help!

[Jay]

That's awesome.

I'm so glad you admit to this - my house is often a disaster and I have no excuse other than I hate cleaning. Haven't people ever heard of calling ahead!?!?!

[kyle]

i don't know what your options are, but i think you should go to vancouver. i was there in october and is absolutely amazing. plus, it's pretty fashion-forward for you trendy types.

when are you going to introduce me to this skinny girl you speak of?...

[wordgirl]

Wow...the mind reels. New York?

[beck]

Ha haaa! And the Mom wins this round.
You are ready for a baby, then. That is exactly how people see you after you have a baby. No matter how you tell yourself that *you* will be different.

I think you should go to Cleveland, I hear it is one of the nicest places in the world to visit, and no end of things to do.

Seriously though...you can't lose when you go to the Bahamas.

[Katy]

I never heard of those books. Shoot.

Haven't heard of those books, but shoot fire! there were lots of Young Adult Christian books to read!

[Katy]

Also, on your time share thing, go to Laguna Beach. Just because it's gorgeous and the hotels are so expensive that the only way to go is with someone else paying.

[wordgirl]

I dunno. I'm still seething about the surprise visit. I may never get over it.

[wordgirl]

I dunno. I'm still seething about the surprise visit. I may never get over it.