This all happened yesterday. It did, honest…I am not making this up. I just want to give you a sense of the batshit crazy universe that I live in.
First, a little back-story: My house in New Hampshire has, unexpectedly, been on the market for over two years. We have been driving back and forth to Ellsworth about every other weekend building our farm for years—and it is killing us. It is ten hours of driving for about twenty-four hours of working our asses off. Tom and I made a New Year’s vow that we must sell our house this spring no matter what—in order to preserve what little is left of our sanity.
So, with that in mind, when our realtor called and said someone wanted to look at the house again…I was delirious, FINALLY, a second showing! Yesterday, I was running around cleaning demonically, which involved hiding the cat box, removing the spinners for target practice out back, shoveling up frozen Rhoda poopsicles in the backyard, disguising the stretched beaver pelts in the garage, covering the bucket of Tom’s clams with their necks stretched out about a foot (which is disturbingly uncircumcised-looking for some obscene reason)—all the basics for making our home look like an elegant, sophisticated country estate—and not a haven for a bunch of redneck, borderline prepper-survivalists.
I was just doing the finishing touches of putting out some fresh, long-stemmed white roses in a cut-crystal vase when Tom came home early from a job building a McMansion on the seacoast. While I was very glad to see him, I was also a little edgy (well, that might be putting it mildly). For good reason. For some inexplicable, unfathomable, complete knuckle-headed reason—my dear husband decided that today would be a good day to shuck the 100 CLAMS that he dug last weekend in the freezing, arctic weather.
Too late, I realized this made the entire house smell like unwashed poom-poom.
We only had about an hour before the potential buyers would be arriving. I frantically threw some Pumpkin Pie spice in the copper kettle that I had simmering on the woodstove, hoping beyond hope that this would disguise the clam flat at low tide ambience. Then I went to my friend Kendall’s house to wait it out and drink too much wine.
When we went back home, there was a note from the realtor saying for some unknown reason, the buyees didn’t think it was a good “fit.” I surmised they must not’ve been seafood people. Oh well, Tom fried up the clams and we had a great clamfest with his brother, Lee, and his girlfriend.
Then, later that night: I have been feeding our deer. I think that they have been starving during this brutal cold spell. We’ve never had them come up to the bird feeders to eat before. I got deer grain and apples and have been putting that out every night during the sub-zero temps.
In the middle of the night, Rhoda whined to go out. I, in my sleepiness, went downstairs – nekkid as a jaybird – and let her out. I never thought this (ex) timid rescue dog would chase a deer…but she tore full bore across the field after one. DAMN! I ran outside to call her to stop, which she did, but when I went to go back in—I was LOCKED OUT. I had to walk around to the front—naked and barefoot. That guy on TV who runs around barefoot blithely in the snow and ice is totally bullcrap.
I thought I was going to have to treat my feet for frostbite. Instead, I crawled in bed and put my feet in Tom’s crotch to thaw them out. He was wicked in love with me right then, I’ll tell you what.
Coming on Monday! “Gladys Tries to Kill Me”