Wednesday, 12 August 2009

Visiting Hours.

If you're ever in the neighbourhood, you're more than welcome to drop by. Most of the time, the kids will be dressed and groomed. Most of the time the house will be relatively clean and tidy. Most of the time, my hair will not resemble a burst couch. Most of the time I won't be wearing a t shirt with dried snot on it. Most of the time there won't be a bunch of paraplegic Bratz dolls lying all over the floor, their dismembered feet stashed in to their party tour bus. Most of the time there won't be washing slung over clothes horses trying to get dried inside, cos it's so wet and miserable outside that I have a backlog of washing to do (thus the snotty t shirt). Most of the time when I hear a knock at the door, my blood doesn't run cold, hoping against hope that one of the neighbours are coming to drop by for a friendly chat. Most of the time, when I hear a knock at the door, I don't frantically think, how am I going to freeze time, so that I can at least straighten my hair, chip off the snot, give the Bratz dolls the ability to walk again, tidy away the washing and rustle up some tasty treats?


But, I can't freeze time. And it seems to be the case that neighbours have a sixth sense about the state of me and my house. I think they lie in wait. I think they choose their moment. I think the have planners on their walls, that mark out the times that I'm most likely to be at my least presentable and most vulnerable. And then they strike. With a rat-a-tat-tat, and a (well disguised) friendly "hello", they swoop in for the kill, and worse yet - the judgement. The eyes sweeping across the battlefield of fallen Bratz, their killing field - a floor littered with hair elastics and dust bunnies, their gaze only to be broken by my jarring appearance. Not too unlike Vivienne Westwood...


My attempt at nonchalance is my only way out. And my gratitude that trashy daytime TV wasn't on. Just to complete the heinous picture.


So. If you want to come by. Sure. But, please. At least give me a heads up. At least give me time to sort out the barnet and sweep my manky floor and threaten the kids with no TV for a week should any bad behaviour present itself.


That will be all. I shall now relive the horror over and over til I feel suitably moved to sweep up.


6 comments:

Summers Family said...

I didn't even answer the door yesterday when someone knocked. In part because I was only wearing underclothing (we had been swimming and I was too hot to get completely dressed) and part because my house was not clean.
I did peak out the kids' window to see who it was, it was the mail carrier. SOOO glad I didn't try to hurry and get dressed to open the door.

Melissa Bastow said...

Most of the time that's the state of my house. Except it is so much worse than the mangled Bratz dolls....so much worse (I'm not even going to give details, it's too horrifying.)

Chris & Kristy said...

You are still funny as ever! Those words with the backup picture made me laugh so hard. You mentioned a "clothes horse" outside with clothes on it? Hmmm. Could that be like the horse we saw in sunny old England that day? Horsey horsey!

Beeswax said...

Oh, boy. My fave is when the kids all peer out the window and yell, so that I am forced to answer the door.

Don't be so hard on yourself. When people see your messy house, they feel better about their own. If you kept your house clean and sparkly, it would be uppity.

Carol said...

My mother in law is superwoman and has a sixth sense about the cleanliness of my house and you can imagine how full of joy I was to find she'd been given a key by my husband. She let herself in once when I was out and she cleaned my kitchen. Not out of kindness out of disgust.

Heidi said...

Actually, Claire, just tuck those paraplegic Bratz dolls into bed and start playing "Quaddie"--it will brighten your day in no time.