Oh, Dear. I’m June Cleaver.
This past weekend we had company. My husband’s cousin and his wife spent a few nights.
Folks don’t stay over much. We live out in the country,and most of our friends and relatives think we are somewhere north of Vladivostok. (actually, it’s Connecticut.)
But we had a family wedding. Our houseguests’ daughter was getting married out here in Siberia.
I had a busy week at work and hadn’t had much time to get the house ready for company. I had washed the sheets and hung clean towels in the bathroom. I figured, at worst, if I couldn’t get to anything else, at least they had fresh linens.
I raced home from work on Friday afternoon. My husband had done a pretty good job in the kitchen, but the fruit bowl held some pretty old and fragrant bananas. So I threw together a banana bread, and changed that smell into something much more pleasant.
Then I quickly changed out of my fancy office attire (meaning my ‘good’ jeans, cami, and silk sweater) and into old jeans and baggy tee. I set to vacuuming. With four kitties, it doesn’t take more than a day or two to be kicking up little hairy clouds as you walk.
I vacuumed like a demon, as time was running out before our guests would arrive.
All finished. I bent down to unplug the vacuum from the last outlet and saw what was still dangling from my neck. My lovely (and expensive) strand of pearls.
I have heard that the warmth of a woman’s body (i.e., perspiration) enhances the iridescence of pearls. That’s so nice. I wore them to the wedding. They glistened.