I am procrastinating.
I have every right to procrastinate. I am entitled. The only thing that should be procrastinated longer, I think, is calling to have the septic tank pumped. I'm supposed to be cleaning out closets and drawers today. I was supposed to yesterday too, but didn't. Yuck.
One time, I ran out of conversation when I first met the mom of one of Nick's new friends. I can talk to almost anyone. I can talk to a door. Here is my greatest suggestion for how to stretch out a conversation: ask questions; learn to be a good interviewer.
"What do you do for fun?" I asked her at a lapse in conversation. That usually brings on an interesting subject, good for potentially hours of time passing time while kids play.
"I like to clean," she said.
"What?" I said. I suddenly knew I had become impossibly hard of hearing. Time to get those hearing aids, I thought.
"I like cleaning," she repeated. Cleaning.
"Oh, that's funny," I said, realizing that she could be one of those stand-up comedienne's that has slow timing, making a joke all the more hysterical.
"No. I mean it. I really like to clean," she said. "I vacuum twice a day because of our dogs." She looked totally insulted. Oh my God, she was not joking. I straightened my face, narrowing my lips and raising my eyebrows to make me look innocent, incapable of rudeness such as laughing at a woman's sincere love of her hobby.
"Oh, and what's your favorite part?" I asked, trying to find some gem in the sand of this conversation.
"I love vacuuming," she repeated, giving me half an evil eye. "And I like dusting too." Indignant is the word, I think.
I knew at that moment that this woman and I would never be friends. Our kids wouldn't likely make it past a certain threshold either. She should never, on pain of death, be invited into my house. It would be my worst nightmare, like when you find out your mother is coming tomorrow and you've been living like a bachelor for the past eight months. It would be easier to call the septic guy and ask him to come in for coffee.
Still, it's too bad I couldn't swallow my embarrassment and just have this woman come live here for two weeks. I think two weeks would do the trick. Maybe I could go somewhere with a pool and a sauna while she did what she loves best. My house might be ready for a visit from mom by the time this woman went home.
Thank you for listening, jules
I have every right to procrastinate. I am entitled. The only thing that should be procrastinated longer, I think, is calling to have the septic tank pumped. I'm supposed to be cleaning out closets and drawers today. I was supposed to yesterday too, but didn't. Yuck.
One time, I ran out of conversation when I first met the mom of one of Nick's new friends. I can talk to almost anyone. I can talk to a door. Here is my greatest suggestion for how to stretch out a conversation: ask questions; learn to be a good interviewer.
"What do you do for fun?" I asked her at a lapse in conversation. That usually brings on an interesting subject, good for potentially hours of time passing time while kids play.
"I like to clean," she said.
"What?" I said. I suddenly knew I had become impossibly hard of hearing. Time to get those hearing aids, I thought.
"I like cleaning," she repeated. Cleaning.
"Oh, that's funny," I said, realizing that she could be one of those stand-up comedienne's that has slow timing, making a joke all the more hysterical.
"No. I mean it. I really like to clean," she said. "I vacuum twice a day because of our dogs." She looked totally insulted. Oh my God, she was not joking. I straightened my face, narrowing my lips and raising my eyebrows to make me look innocent, incapable of rudeness such as laughing at a woman's sincere love of her hobby.
"Oh, and what's your favorite part?" I asked, trying to find some gem in the sand of this conversation.
"I love vacuuming," she repeated, giving me half an evil eye. "And I like dusting too." Indignant is the word, I think.
I knew at that moment that this woman and I would never be friends. Our kids wouldn't likely make it past a certain threshold either. She should never, on pain of death, be invited into my house. It would be my worst nightmare, like when you find out your mother is coming tomorrow and you've been living like a bachelor for the past eight months. It would be easier to call the septic guy and ask him to come in for coffee.
Still, it's too bad I couldn't swallow my embarrassment and just have this woman come live here for two weeks. I think two weeks would do the trick. Maybe I could go somewhere with a pool and a sauna while she did what she loves best. My house might be ready for a visit from mom by the time this woman went home.
Thank you for listening, jules
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