Panic Attack in the Middle of My Kitchen

I'm not a people person.

(Shocking I know. I mean, really, a gal who spends her time hiding online behind a computer screen doesn't possess the social skills to gracefully flitter about with abounding social skills. Whodathunkit?)

I like to hide in my house and surround myself with all things familiar.

When someone comes to my house unexpectedly I have a full fledged panic attack. My head actually pops off and rolls down the driveway when someone calls in advance to invite themselves into my space and my dogs have fun chewing on my cranium and depositing it at my feet minutes before the anticipated company arrives.

I can count on one hand how many times I have ever had over-night guests stay in my domicile, use my toilet paper and snoop through my kitchen drawers.

I am not a born entertainer.

I'm okay with this. I have other skills. I'm very bendy.

But this week, something shifted. I did the unthinkable. Not only did I allow my children to invite every known terrorist child in the neighbourhood to stay for a sleep over (I'm still in shock and trying to recover) I invited grown up peoples to my house.

To stay over.

For more than one night.

My friends Catherine and Kate are coming to visit me and witness how I wrangle the dust bunnies in the wilds of rural Alberta.

Let the hyperventilating commence.

The things I do for the people I love. (Well, okay. Truth be told I only invited them because I am madly in love with their children and covet them for my own, but still.)


Is there anything better than corrupting other people's children? I think not.

So I may not be around much because I am actually going to do the unthinkable. I'm going to clean my house. Not just stuff things under the bed and in the closets like I do when my husband is on his way home. Nope. I'm actually going to move things and use that fancy Dyson vacuum I acquired not long ago that I still have no idea how to use.

I may even clean my fish tank.

I will be restocking the liquor cabinet. That's a guarantee.

So if you don't hear from me in a few days, you'll know I've lost the showdown in the kitchen as I attempted to outdraw the dust bunnies. I'll have drown in a mountain of damn laundry and choked on cleaning supplies.

The things I do for my friends.


It'd be much easier if I could just admit defeat and publicly declare I'm a slob.

Now excuse me. I need to buy a mop. Where the hell does one purchase such a weapon of war?