What I Saw From the Kitchen Floor

Mind-numbing pain shoots through both legs. My knees buckle as the heat from hell’s inferno sears down to the bone. Sweat pops on my brow. A pounding in my head is surely the hoof beats of the approaching Apocalypse. My stomach churns.

I collapse to the kitchen floor. In vain I try to pull myself to the telephone but am only able to lie there panting and awaiting eternal darkness.

Apocalypse Now But Not Before I Clean Up This Mess
Hold your doomsday horses, folks.

What is this I see? Oh, golly. My kitchen floor is filthy! Look at the grease accumulated there by the stove and crumbs stuck to every corner from the droplets of a thousand spilled juice drinks. Goo drizzles down the front of my oven door.

Ugh! One glance and I notice the colorful hook rug on which I lie hides myriad stains and crusty gookiness. If only my legs would cooperate, I’d jump up and toss it in the washer.

I thought the kitchen was passable, but I’d never gotten this kind of bug’s eye view. At this moment, all I can think is: Please don’t report me to America’s Messiest Home.

With God as My Witness, I’ll Move Again
I begin to focus and realize I’ve not been seized by satan. I’ve experienced excruciating leg cramps the likes of which would take down an Olympic high jumper. These were the grand-daddy of all leg cramps.

An eight-hour workday in high heels and two more schlepping through the grocery store had proved to be too much on my poor aging calf muscles.

Twenty minutes of leg massage and housekeeping self-examination, and I was able to limp to the couch where I rested and reflected.

Cleanliness is Next to Someone Else
Anyone who’s been to my home will agree I’m no Suzie Homemaker. Small tufts of dog hair float down the hall way. Dishes await a washing. Windows are smudged. As in life, when I don’t look too closely, I can overlook the grime and dirt that isn’t in my face.

And as in life, tomorrow is another day, and that’s when I’ll think about hiring someone else to clean up this mess.