Fruit Inspection

I did something yesterday that made me pause and shake my head. I debated about writing it here. Not sure how my readers would take it. But then I thought, seriously Jodi, you haven’t posted in like, a month. Do you really think anyone is still reading?

Then I thought about my family and friends who might still peek in on me, hoping for a cute anecdote about the children. Let me assure you, this is not one. But it may give you some insight into what I am becoming. My good friends already know this about me, but to the others, all I can say is “I’m sorry”.

The story begins with me working like a mad woman to have the entire house clean all at once. Not an easy task given the size of my house and 2 young children who leave toys in their path along the same fashion as rabbits leave their tiny round droppings.

Why? You may ask. Why would you torture yourself with a task so similar to shoveling snow in the midst of a snowstorm?

The answer is simple. Our new real estate agent was coming out this morning to take all kinds of snazzy photos in hopes of selling our house. I was determined to do all I could to make it appealing to anyone searching online for a great deal.

I have to say the day went fairly smooth. I left my arch enemy, the hardwood floors, for last. I had made a deal with Jeremy that I would take care of everything else and when it came time for them, he needed to exit the premises with children in tow.

He headed over to his dad’s place with them around 5:30.

I don’t know what it is about house cleaning that erases my memory to eat. But as they were leaving, all I could think about was finishing everything up and then diving into some leftover spaghetti. I was starving!!!

As I got out my mop, the phone rang. It was a guy who came by the house earlier to check out some office supplies I have for sale. He had his wife with him and they wanted to drop back in. Being the salesperson that I am (stop laughing Jessica), I agreed.

An hour later…YES, an HOUR later, they left. You’d think my stomach growling the entire time they meandered through my goods would have sped up the process a bit. But no.

So, finally I was able to get to the business of mopping. But I was sooooo hungry! I knew if I ate first I’d never go back and mop. I got the spaghetti out of the fridge and began heating it in the microwave. While it was warming, I began the task at hand.

My thought was to have the meal ready by the time I was done with the floors. I certainly didn’t want to wait another 10 minutes AFTER mopping to sit down and eat. I may have perished!

Somehow I finished the floors in record time. That could be the reason they are somewhat sticky today. Who knows? But at any rate, I was finished and the smells of basil and oregano were calling my name.

Now you have to know how my kitchen is set up. I purposefully started working from the living room, making my way into the kitchen last. The goal was to finish up next to the laundry room, which is only 2 steps from my microwave. Since the rest of the floor was wet, I planned to back into the laundry room, then take 2 little steps to get to the microwave, grab my dinner, and take 2 little steps back into the laundry room to eat.

Can you believe I put this much thought into it? But wait, I haven’t told you the pathetic, roll-your-eyes, take me off your Facebook page part yet.

About midway through scarfing down my first plate of noodle and marinara goodness, I realized I was incredibly thirsty. Really, really thirsty!!! And I’m telling you there is only one drink that I like to partake in when eating spaghetti. I don’t know why and I don’t know when it started. But nothing else appeals to me. It has to be red wine.

The good news is that there is only thing standing between my laundry room and the microwave, besides the door to the garage. The refrigerator! And there on the first shelf, behind a gallon of milk and 2 quarts of lemonade, was a bottle of Merlot.

I took the one step to open the door and one step back to the laundry room. The glasses were too far so I hopped up on the counter top, propped my legs on the dryer to balance the plate, pulled the cork and took a drink.

It wasn’t until I lifted the bottle a second time that I thought about what a sight I must be. It made me laugh out loud. Is this where closet drinkers get their start?

Technically, I wasn’t in a closet. And considering I’m telling on myself on the world wide web, I doubt I’m in need of AA. This sort of blows the whole “anonymous” part right out of the water anyways. But I’ve had a few friends tell me they’ve missed my blog (y’all are so sweet!), so I posted this just for you guys. Aren’t you sorry you asked???