The day was gorgeous, the sun was shining, and the air outside was...well it was unbearable. And by unbearable, I mean that as soon as I and my basketball-belly stepped outside, we would have created a sweaty, red-cheeked, not-pretty scene.
Therefore, I did what any normal mother does on sweltering days: I decided to scrub the toilets. Not only that, but I also needed to sweep, dust, empty trash, wash towels, and make beds. (You know -- to avoid the irritation of a sweaty scene...) While it seems senseless with a capital DUMB, I had a very good reason to be frantically cleaning, for frantic I was.
The carpet man was coming.
I know! The carpet man! He who probably never sees a house in disrepair! Never in the course of all his furniture-moving, decade-old pad removal, dusty-fiber cutting work could he have possibly come across a dust bunny or -- gasp! -- less than sparkling toilet!
But you see, he wasn't coming to do dirty work that day, he was only coming to do a consultation and measurement. The consultation, because neither Justin nor I have much luck deciding on definitive carpet or flooring choices, much less what will look good when paired together, since we're having our entire house re-floored sometime in the very near future. So I had to clean.
Moreover, as I scrubbed our toilets and wiped our counters, it entered my fevered thinking that I was also cleaning for a very odd reason.
A completely irrational reason.
In my head, after I got it all sorted out, it went like this: What if, upon seeing the disastrous condition of our living space, the carpet man hugs his gorgeous samples of rugs and tiles and laminates to his chest, exclaims in horror, and refuses to part with his goods for fear that they'll end up being less-than well cared for? What if we're deemed unworthy recipients of his services?! What if they don't trust us enough for the 'good' consultation, and merely give us the bare minimum that they think we'll actually be able to handle, based on our clearly sub-par cleaning standards?!
All this because of a pile of towels on the floor and a scattering of crumbs under the kitchen chairs and a mess of dishes in the sink. Oh, and some bags of donations in the hallway. Also, a mash of banana on the table.
But who's nesting, right?
Not I, said the crazy lady.