My porch is still covered with last spring's pollen. The spiders have taken up all the edges and spun their creepy webs. There are wrens' nests in both corners. My cantankerous cats have sprayed in various places, trying to take dominance over each other. All the beautiful pillows that I bought last year are sticky with nature. The light fixtures are thick with dust.
You'd think I would do something about all that.
I'm cranky. I'm hot, it's gluey out here, and there's not a swimming hole in sight. Besides, I'm fat. I bought two ceiling fans a year ago that have never been put up, and you know I ain't gonna do that. I also have the most darling set of twinkly lights that I bought for it too. You can't go out there without fans and mosquito spray in this summer swelter. It's very tragic, to look forlornly out this 118-year-old wavy window and not have the where-with-all to clean that mess up. It's August and I have betrayed the most Southern of heritages: our front porch.
The list includes: Put all the furniture in the yard. Remove all cushions and pillows. Throw the (huge) rug out there too. Haul the hosepipe halfway around the house and squirt everything off, including the furniture and all areas of the porch. Have fight with husband about how I did not put the hose back correctly. Head to the laundromat with said trappings. Forget the laundry soap. Go back home and get it. Forget the cash for the machines. Go to bank and get some. Laundromat again. Spend half the day washing and drying them. Take them home and lay them all over the house because they didn't actually dry properly. Mop the porch floor. Two weeks later, put everything back. Meanwhile the rug got soaked by rain three times.
Do you understand why I don't want to do this job? But after it's done, I will make a jug of sweet tea, call up the kids and we will munch on food and swig that stuff and it will all be worth it. Is there a twelve-step program for this?
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