Hey guys. It's ten o'clock at night and I'm a bit tired, so sorry if this post is disjointed.
Thursdays are weird days for me. I intended to go to the gym. But Thursdays are cleaning days, and since COVID hit and we asked our cleaning lady to stop coming for fear of germs, it's been my job to clean the house. I now know that I want a small house. But since cleaning technically counts as moderate exercise, I didn't have to hit the gym.
So I dusted, vacuumed, and Swiffered the entire downstairs and cleaned the kitchen and the half-bath. And of course, while I'm vacuuming, the vacuum decides to make a noise like a seasick elephant.
"There's something wrong with the vacuum," Mom insists. She turns it upside-down. "There's a bunch of hair caught in the bottom. Go outside and clean it out."
So, armed with a pair of scissors, I park myself outside the front door in the shade (because summer is upon us in Texas and it's hot as heck outside). I start snipping and pulling. Snipping and pulling. I've got quite a collection of hair tucked underneath the vacuum so it doesn't blow away. It's enough to make a small wig.
And then the mail comes.
Normally, it would have been a fairly normal enough ordeal. The mail lady drives up to our brick mailbox--the one that geckos love to hide in--and maybe spots me tugging hair out of a vacuum cleaner, maybe doesn't. But not today. See, a few days ago, I ordered some books online. One of them, unbeknownst to me, was a children's book, and far too large to fit in our mailbox.
So she walks up to me. As I'm sitting with a vacuum in my lap and human hair strewn all over the place. My fingertips are gray with God knows what. Hair dust? Vacuum grease?
I apologized to the mail lady. I don't know why. She's probably seen stranger things than someone cutting hair out of their vacuum. I always joke that I'm part Canadian.
Anyway. I'm exhausted. I cleaned all morning and spent my entire afternoon trying to find the original training manual used by the Pinkerton Detective Agency in the 1800s. Since I don't feel like driving 730 miles to a Kentucky college library, I'll have to see if my alma mater can borrow a copy from somewhere. If anyone says that writing isn't a real job I'll teach them otherwise.
Oh, and I also came up with 42 different ways to conjugate a verb in a language that doesn't exist. Looking up "verb moods for dummies" only gives you the three most commonly used in English. Some of the verb moods have really cool names like jussive. I like that word. It sounds like the name of a character from a dystopian novel.
I also helped my mom cook dinner. Tacos. Except that no one in my family ever eats tacos. I prefer tostadas, and my parents and sister all like burritos. Did you know that "burrito" is actually a Spanish word that means "little donkey"? You do now.
Yeah, I'm going to bed, y'all. Good night! Sleep tight. Sweet dreams. God bless.
M. J. Piazza is a Jesus-loving, dog-walking country girl who just so happens to write books.