What's a person to do if we can't laugh once in a while, especially at ourselves? This is the first of two moments of creativity I had several years ago.
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I would like to share my most recent moment of brilliance. It had been a long tiring day of scrubbing behind the fridge and stove (which should have been a week's job in itself), laundry, bathing children, cleaning, cooking, … the usual. I wearily leaned on my push broom with the pretense of sweeping. It was actually my hope that I would look good in the eyes of my beloved; industrious, domestic, and aiming to please. As I viewed the bountiful harvest of garbage from the floor, I pondered the likelihood of having anywhere near the strength to even gather the harvest in, let alone wash the threshing floor. (Believe me; there are days when I'm convinced the children are threshing every grain of gunk they can find into my lino…) I decided that any hope of attaining such a lofty goal was far beyond my reach. Then, as I looked again, the floor seemed to jeer at me, "HA! I've been like this for how many days? And I … win… again!!!!" Not to be outdone, I arrived at the conclusion that truly I could accomplish yet one more goal today. With renewed determination (and a mitt full of chips for added strength) I reached out into the plummeting temperatures to grasp my tool of the hour, the mop. I was disheartened to find, not a mop, but a long stick with a cluster of twigs attached to the ends. What had taken it so long to dry? Surely in three or four days of warm weather it could have been so generous as to humor me with even a few dry strands. But no! It had to cling to its moisture like a hopeless codependent. It had to ensure that when the temperature dropped, it would be prepared to take its vengeance for my smearing its clean white head from one end of my dirt harvest to the other. Have you ever tried to mop with twigs? Picture it for me, will you? I did the splash and swipe method (you know, pour hot water on the floor then mop up the mess). It would proceed something like this; water is poured onto the muddy, slimy floor; twigs are applied to the mucky mess; senseless scratching and streaked water would be the only results of several minutes of "mopping." Picturing such futility in my mind, I proceeded to the next step; how to regain my mop, and kill the twigs. Whereupon I quietly mused, "I wonder if you can stick a mop head in the microwave?" My poor, exhausted husband escaped to the basement begging, "Please, tell me you're joking! Please, please tell me you're joking! Please, please, please…." It was the last I heard of him for several hours. The poor soul was unable to recognize a perfectly logical solution to a most annoying problem. Me? You say the problem was with me? I dare say! The nerve! Nonetheless, I did manage to complete the task… and write this story! How can you argue with success?
Maybe I should stay up until 2:00 more often! Who knows what stroke of genius will hit next?
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