Levedy

Clean Sweep: Phase One

I’ve put it off long enough. I vowed to clean out the troll room (Closet under the stairs) weeks ago, and today I finally started. The troll room isn’t really good for much except storing my shoes. I have a genetic defect (also known as “irrational case of the crazies”) that prevents me from wearing shoes on carpet; I must take my shoes off whilst on tile. I have a shoe tree inside the troll room that works perfectly. Other items rightfully stored in the troll room are: our K-Mart Christmas tree and Christmas ornaments, gift wrap, and the one winter coat we own.

Things not rightfully stored in the closet include (but are DEFINITELY not limited to: hulks of ten-year old Computers, Dimitri’s nightstand from when he was living with his mother (which includes an interesting assortment of receipts (just in case we want to analyze what we ordered from Chili’s five years ago), unused gifts I do not remember receiving, and more scorpions than I am comfortable sharing a living space with (hereto known as “one.”)

Here's a view of the outside of the closet. There’s more stuff in the closet, but whilst emptying the closet, I found a scorpion running around, and promptly darted to the other end of the living room….to…get…bug spray. Yeah. Bug spray in hand, I returned to the last known location of said scorpion: nothing there but tumbleweeds. No scorpion anywhere. Sweet merciful crap. I sent the cat in, hoping she’d find the bugger, but so far, nothing.

Understand this: when we had the house carpeted and tiled, we specifically chose desert colors that would hide dirt. I only regret the decision when I’m made aware of scorpions and spiders. Darn that “survival of the fittest” crap! Desert bugs tend to be the color of, well, the desert. So, unless the scorpion is moving, say, in hot pursuit of my unshod foot, I’m not going to see it. The scorpion’s best bet is to hold perfectly still. For all I know, Mr. Stingy is chillin’ inside the closet, throwing back margaritas until I can collect enough Raid to bomb the entire area.

Braver people (and I am definitely NOT including myself in this group) would say: “Oh please. Put on long socks and closed-toed shoes and go back to work. Mr. Stingy was only about two inches long at the outside. You’re a billion times his size. He won’t attack you.” Chickens would respond (And yes, I am a card-carrying member of this group): “But Mr. Stingy has a stinger! He could be, uh, rabid. Yeah. And he might be the special kind of scorpion that has wings and can quadruple in size like a puffer fish! He could be the Dirty Harry of his kind! You never know.”

So here I am, trying to write a long post to delay my having to go back into the breech and face my Arachnid foe. I’ll probably put on twelve pairs of socks, boots, and wear some thick oven mitts before I attempt anything more regarding the closet. Wish me luck.

Before I go: gratuitous cat shot of Ruby eating a hawaiian straw hat while she thinks I'm not looking:here