The bug man came yesterday. I made the bed and everything. We have seven pillows on the bed and they all match. I'm very proud of that. It's gold. The color is gold. Half the time, okay, three-fourths of the time, I leave the white comforter on the bed all day because what if one of us takes a nap? If it's already messed up and has the white comforter then it's all ready to sleep in. I take off the gold comforter and pillows each night and set them on the floor. So they stay nice don't cha know.
Husband said, "So did you make the bed for the bug man?" Yes, I did. I certainly did.
And I beamed with pride from the inside out when the bug man said, "I don't recognize the place." Indeed. I have scrubbed the wall behind the stove. We bought a new stove. I scrubbed the floor completely, and then the edges and floorboards all around the kitchen with a toothbrush and bleach. I cleaned the candy off the bedroom floor that looked like red wax. I vacuumed all the dust and hair from anywhere. It couldn't hide from me. Grime. I can't have it. I don't want it. I'm averse to housework, but fond of the result.
So I pretended I didn't really hear the bug man because I didn't want to appear too prideful, but I heard him. And I felt very good.