Thursday, March 4, 2010

Showing the House

I don't think there is a single part of my body that doesn't ache in some way. The day started out so well, with a plan in place, and somewhere around noon it all went to hell in a hand basket!

I was on my way back from the paint store, laden down with quarts of paint to touch up areas that needed to be repaired. We spent last night patching areas that had dings and dents, and my walls looked like they had white chicken pox.

My cell rang as I stepped in the door at about noon. What's that you say?? A showing at 7pm? TODAY????

I sprang into action. Like a mad woman. I prayed that they wouldn't notice the clothes I shoved into the dryer, and that they wouldn't peek under beds and see all of the things I stashed in my mad dash to get the house in order. I scrubbed walls, I painted walls. I cleaned, I packed, I prepped. I ran up and down the stairs so many times my calves began to scream for mercy.

And as 6:35 rolled around, I breathed a sigh of relief. If they didn't look too closely, and if I lit candles instead of turning on the lights, this could actually be a good showing.

They showed up early, and stayed for 11 minutes. ELEVEN minutes. My body did not feel that this was a fair trade off. Their eleven minutes for my 6 hours of sheer torture.

And now I am sitting in an super tidy house, with not a thing to do. Time for bed, if I can remember where I stashed my toothbrush.

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