We spent the whole weekend getting ready for a gigantic garage sale we are hoping to have in a couple of weeks. We cleaned years of CRAP out of the basement, and just moving it to the garage felt liberating. It’s not like it’s all really crap, but it there was so much of it, I felt disgusted and discouraged. Who are these people that bought all this stuff? Why did I think I needed not one, but two mini-muffin tins? Why did I buy a tiny mirror at a thrift store for $3, carefully wrap it, and stick it in a box for 14 YEARS?
Everywhere I looked, I saw dollar signs.
And they were fly – fly – flying away.
Not only that, but it was FILTHY down there. Yet another reason to be grossed out by ourselves. Most of my friends think that my house is perfectly clean all the time. I don’t know where they get this idea, except that whenever someone comes over, I go into panic mode and we all scramble to pick up. I scramble and bark orders and scare people with the crazy eyes. I’m a multi-tasker that way. Plus, I don’t let people upstairs to witness the kids’ bathroom or the giant pile of laundry that inhabits on our bed.
So not only was I confronted by crap and filth, but I also had to work and lift stuff and the dust got all up on me, and now my eyes have been hurty for three days.
AND I’m too tired to do any of the things I need to be doing, like school and bread baking and dinner making.
And being tired reminds how close I am to turning FORTY, which is, I guess, officially OLD.
FORTY. I will be forty in 31 days.
My husband said turning forty was really no big deal, because after you do it, it’s over and you don’t have to worry about turning forty anymore.
I asked him when he was planning on realizing his next big one was FIFTY.
Judging by the look on his face, that had not occurred to him yet.
I might have taken a small amount of pleasure in being the first one to remind him about it.
Another small sample of the the Awesome Wife Service I offer.
AND THEN, this morning, all my Twitter pals were bragging about being on Spring Break, and I got all grumbly and jealous and whiny and started wondering why I didn’t schedule a break for us, because we could sure use a break…
and then I checked my schedule…
and we WERE supposed to be on Spring Break this week.
And now I’m all confused.
Which must be another symptom of being forty.
Except I am NOT forty YET, so forty better just step off.
I SAID STEP OFF.