 Things like a smear of pancake syrup on the edge of a kitchen chair.
You don't even know it's there until you squat to tie a child's shoe
or bring the dustpan closer to the broom. Then you find that you
can't stand up again because the back of your thighs and calves have
been fused together by pancake syrup that has dried to super-glue
consistency.If you don't have those search-and-destroy cleaning
fairies around, you could find yourself waddling around like a duck
all day. Dinner would be based on the things that were within reach
in the refrigerator. That would be mostly the items in the vegetable
crisper.
"Honey, what's for dinner today?"
"Eggplant, carrot and celery casserole with a glass of pickle
juice and a side of the apricot preserves your aunt made for us at
Christmas two years ago. The casserole will be cold, though, because
I couldn't reach the oven knobs. I sat in invisible syrup today, you
see, and there was nobody here to help me pry my legs apart. I asked
the mailman, but he took one look at me and ran. Can you imagine?
It's as if I had a pit bull standing behind me or something."
Those specialized gypsy cleaning fairies would see a disaster
waiting to happen and make it disappear with a wave of their magic
wand … or fairy dust … or ruby slippers … or whatever fairies use
for such things.
They would see that somebody had peed on the toilet seat, and
they would be right there between the seat and my rear end trying to
neutralize (or sanitize) the situation. I bet they get paid well for
that. They probably have a union to take care of their interests,
especially when they happen to be between a rock and a hard place.
Neither of which would apply to my behind, of course.
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 The gypsy cleaning fairies would be there when somebody put a
hole in the middle of a full tube of toothpaste. Why would my
demented children find it necessary to put a hole in my toothpaste?
Why do they find it necessary to sit in my chair at my spot at
the kitchen table while eating watermelon? They must know it is not
possible to eat watermelon without getting juice on the table. They
must know that if you leave it there overnight, the juice will bond
with the breakfast cereal box and rip the bottom off it if you are
unwise enough to remove it from the table by force.
Why, when I stick my hand under the sofa to remove the half-dozen
assorted, unmatched socks under there, does my hand always come out
with something gooey attached to it? A squished raisin, a nectarine
pit, Nickelodeon Slime or other better-left-unidentified matter.
Why am I always the person to discover a juice spill that had
been wiped over once with a dry paper towel? To be more specific, it
is usually my bare feet that do the discovering.
I do not have a dog, but just leaving my bedroom in the morning
is like stepping in dog doo-doo every time you set foot in the yard.
If those gypsy cleaning fairies ever show up at my door, union or
no union, they will be working for every penny they earn.
[By LAURA SNYDER]
Laura Snyder is a nationally syndicated columnist,
author and speaker. You can reach her at
lsnyder@lauraonlife.com
or visit www.lauraonlife.com
for more info.
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