The Princess Strikes Back

Hello
again from the Big Blue!

Since I
have no budget for special effects, what I’d like you to do here is hum the
“Star Wars” theme and imagine the next block of text scrolling upward against a
starry background. Enjoy the show…

SAND WARS 

Episode XXII –

(I’ll make episodes I thru XXI
when I’m ridiculously famous and have too much money to worry about things like
a plot or artistic merit, and then you won’t have to hum your own theme song,
won’t that be nice?)
 

It is a time of great unrest in
the galaxy. The rebel fighters, led by the brave, and grammatically correct,
Princess Kleenflor, have sustained heavy losses. Evil Presidente Sandifeet,
armed with diabolic, foot-shaped, sand-carrying weapons, has launched a massive
attack in the Kitchen Nebula and has now set his sites on the Bedroom Moon as
well. With only primitive sweeping devices for defense, and small arms that
tire easily, the poor Princess is no match for this monster. With the failure
of her “Nagging Strategy”, it seems all is lost. Her only hope lies in a series
of mats and towels she has spread throughout the system, which, if she’s
really, really, really lucky (and I mean really lucky), her nemesis will step
on and unwittingly remove at least a few grains of the foul grit. Yeah, right, like
that’s going to happen. (You can stop humming now, it’s over. Catchy tune
though.)

 
If you
are married or living with someone, or if you have been married or lived with
someone in the past, I’m willing to stake the life of several small, helpless,
cute and furry critters on the bet that your spouse/partner/roommate did at
least one thing, (sometimes several), on an ongoing basis, despite repeated
requests not to, that had you, on at least one occasion, wondering if those CSI
guys are really as good as they seem on TV or could you strangle your
spouse/partner/roommate in their sleep and get away with it?

 (How’s
that for a run-on sentence?)

Come on,
fess up, you know it’s true. What do I do that drives Prez to thoughts of
homicide? Well, the short list would include: forgetting to shut lights off,
washing clothes of his that he claims are not dirty because they are not in the
laundry hamper (but I know otherwise), forgetting to return DVD’s, daydreaming
while in the middle of helping with some manual labour project requiring my
full attention, spending too much money on my cat, spending too much money,
saying “the book was so much better” after watching a movie based on a book,
telling the story of my near plane crash that he’s heard a billion times, my
driving (which, by the way, is excellent), trying to throw away rags…er…I mean perfectly
good t-shirts
of his when he’s not looking, my obsessive compulsive
cleaning disorder, and…no I think I’ll stop there, I’m starting to  feel my self esteem ebbing.

And what
does my stud of a husband do that has me contemplating a Prez-shaped voodoo
doll and a bucket of pins? (Besides clipping his toe nails in front of me, that
is). He doesn’t wipe his feet when he comes in the house! Do you mind if I vent
for a moment? Thanks. 

AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
 
Better.

Is there
such a thing as “sand rage”? Well, there should be. Do you have any idea how
quickly my blood boils when, after meticulously sweeping and mopping our floor
to the point where you could skate across it in white socks all day and not
find so much as a micron of dirt on the soles when you’re done, I walk through
the kitchen and step in a small sand castle? Do you? (Here you can imagine my
fingers clutching your shoulders and shaking you uncontrollably, while my face
is contorted in a “one step away from a straight jacket” type expression. I
really have to work on the special effects budget).

You’re
thinking, But Princess you live on the beach, what did you expect? Yes,
I live on the beach. On not in. Big difference. Our floor is made
of cement, not sand. I like sand, I do. I like to visit it and then I like to
come back and visit the nice clean, linoleum-covered cement. If your house is
surrounded by a yard, do you plant grass in your living room? (The kind you
can’t smoke). If you live in a metropolitan area, is your hallway full of old
chewing gum and cigarette butts such as what you find on the sidewalk outside?
If you live on a houseboat, do you wet your floor down with buckets of water
every day? No, no, no, no, and no!

Now, if
Prez swept and mopped occasionally, (occasionally meaning “ever”), then perhaps
I could overlook the Gobi Desert he manages to drag in on his size twelve’s
every day but since I am the lone sweeper I feel I am entitled to my annoyance.
How much do I sweep? Does the fact that one of Prez’s nicknames for me is
“Sweepy-pie” give you a clue? Or that the Canadian Olympic curling team keeps
offering me cash incentives to join up? Recently, I found a lump in my right
hand, a hard nodule on the pad below my middle finger. When I go back home, I
will ask the doctor what it is. You know what she will say? “That is a highly
dangerous calciferous growth brought on by over-sweeping. You poor thing. Tell
your husband he must be sure to thoroughly cleanse from the knees down before
he enters the house from now on or your life will be in jeopardy!” I can hardly
wait for the “I told you so.”

What’s
to be done? I suppose I could just leave it until it got bad enough that he
would have no choice but to sweep up himself but I fear we would have scorpions
and sidewinders moving into the bedroom and a bunch of guys on ATV’s jumping
over our kitchen table before that would happen. I could install one of those
ultra high-tech vacuum cleaning systems at the front door, you know, the ones
they use in factories where silicon computer chips are manufactured. But
knowing Prez he’d just come in the back door and I would have blown my
chocolate budget for the next five years for nothing. Hypnosis might work. With
my luck, though, his subconscious would tune into the roosters instead of my
voice and then he’d be waking up at three a.m. every morning to crow…before he
went outside to scratch in the ground for grubs, bringing even more sand in
when he returned. Sigh.

I guess
there’s no easy answer, some habits just can’t be changed. And revenge is so
petty. Soooooo petty.

“Oh, I’m
sorry Prez, was that your favorite fishing shirt I just tore up into rags to
clean the toilets with? My mistake. Oh well, once you’ve finished shutting off
all the lights behind me and returning the DVD I’ve accidentally kept for the
past two months, perhaps you will be kind enough to move the camels and those
guys in robes and turbans out of the bathroom? And don’t worry about the twelve
thousand dollar Amazon order I just placed for cat toys because I think if we
drill in the guest room we may find oil.”

QUESTION:
Come on, spill it, what’s your house mate doing that’s driving you nuts?

Until
next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life on a clean
floor!

Tongue
firmly in cheek…The Princess

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