Mostly True Memoirs
As if we weren’t quarantining hard enough, we are now in the midst of a major rainstorm.
It’s as good a time as any to start the fall housecleaning.
The Grown Sons are shocked.
They have been living on their own for awhile.
Apparently they have forgotten how to live in a house.
They want to know why.
Why in the world am I wiping down the floorboards?
Why am I washing the window blinds?
Why am I dusting all of the ceiling fans?
And why, why, why do they have to help?
“Because,” I assured them, “We have standards.”
I swear, these boys were not raised in a barn.
Although the evidence would suggest otherwise.