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Thursday, August 24, 2006

Bombs Away!

You know how some people clean for company as opposed to how they keep the house presentable in normal day-to-day? I’ve never really been much for that type of guest cleaning. The house is in the not too shabby state or the in the event of drive-by visitors state, always.

My old man however, feels it is of the utmost importance that everything be picture perfect for guests. On the phone the other day, he gave me an earful because Hoss and Vicki were coming over.

Nearly panicked, he asked, “Did you clean the house?”

“God, you act like the house is a pigsty. I did the dishes after dinner but that’s about it.”

“What about the floors?”

“They are fine.”

“Lo, do you really want people seeing the house in less than perfect condition, especially the first time you meet?”

“I really don’t think Hoss and Vicki are coming to inspect the cleanliness of our humble abode. Besides, I did all the major crap on the weekend.”

He offered up a disgusted sigh of sorts and agreed to disagree.

When I got off of the phone with my old man, I felt almost obligated to comply and get the guest cleaning underway. You know the kind, wash floors that weren’t dirty enough for the effort. Dust ceiling fans that hadn’t collected their quota of dust bunnies. Scrub the bath crayon drawings and words from the shower walls, even though I doubt either of them intended to shower here.

So the house shined like a brand new penny. I even opened the doors and windows while the air conditioner was running, to make sure the air quality was top-notch.

Lane 1 came in the house to check in. “Ma! I’m checkin’ in. Me and AJ will be out in front.”

“Don’t go far, you need to get in bed early for school tomorrow.”

“Okay, bye!”

I heard what sounded like a gunshot. My heart pounded in my throat, my stomach felt like I was kicked. I ran to the front door to check on my son. I was terrified. He and his buddy were on their bikes at the end of the driveway, laughing. I felt relieved. I knew Lane 2 was in the backyard playing with her friends.

What was that sound? And holy shit! What is that smell? A fizzing sound was coming from the bathroom. I walked right into a wall of funk. This was not your typical bathroom stank. This was wretched like raw sewage.

I pushed the shower doors back to find a fart bomb fizzing away.

That’s why those two boys were laughing!


Trying not to laugh, he sheepishly came toward the front door.

“Put your bike away. You are grounded!”

“But dude! Ma! Come on man!”


Of all days for the little shit to pull a prank like that, he had to pick the day I spit shined the fucking house. I was so pissed. I wanted to string him up by his toes from the dust-free ceiling fan. Instead, I made him re-clean the entire bathroom.

In the morning, I awoke to the news that Hoss and Vicki weren’t going to make it. I wondered if they had heard my house smelt like raw sewage and changed their plans, couldn’t say I blamed them. Hoss wanted to get back home to his sweetheart, so he flew out of Chicago at 3:30.

After I finished being sad that I wasn’t going to meet the duo, I finally laughed about the fart bomb. I also vowed to never clean for guests again.