Unexpected Visitors

You know what I hate? Unexpected visitors. And no, I'm not talking about an early period that stains your favorite panties. I'm talking about neighbors coming to visit "just for the heck of it" when I'm white-trashing it up in a house just slightly more sanitary than a crack-snorting dog breeder's.

My neighbor, who's as nice as could be and whose house is always immaculate and smells of Downy and Pine-Sol, decided to stop over with her two-year-old at around 3 p.m. Three p.m. is just about the time I'm gaining consciousness ("momma's nap time -- go put a movie on kids"). So here's what I remember about the course of events... And remember, this is honest-to-goodness A TRUE STORY.

1 p.m. -- "Kids -- clean up your lunch mess. Kids? Clean up your lunch mess. Hello? Kids? Ooooh. What's this on TiVo? The Little House on the Prairie where Laura steals Nelly's music box? Awesome! Hey Kids? Oh what the hell. We'll clean later. But first, let me throw all the cushions from the couch on the floor. Ahhhh. Now it's like a big comfy bed. BoeDee? Come here, boy. Do you want to lick my ice-cream bowl? Good boy. Oops. The spoon fell out. I'll get it later. Good boy."

2:30 p.m. -- 30 minutes into momma's nap... "Mom. BoeDee just peed in the kitchen. It's running all over the floor. It's in the cracks. I stepped in it and now it's all down the hall, too."

"Okay. Momma's still sleeping. I'll take care of it when I wake up."

2:45 p.m. -- the sound of water running. "What's that sound?"

"What sound, mom?"

"That water sound?"

"Oh, that's just me doing an experiment in the bathroom."

"An experiment of what?"

"Toilet paper and water."

"Oh. Okay then."

3:00 -- Ding Dong!

3:01 -- (in a whisper) "Mom. Do you want me to put a barstool over the place where BoeDee peed so Ryan (the innocent and tidy 2-year-old) won't step in it."

"Crap! Yes. Put a barstool up. Thanks, honey."

3:02 -- "Come on in."

"Did we wake you?"

"No, no. I was just catching up on some television. I like to turn the couch into a bed. Heh heh (nervous laugh). Let me just get these cushions. Wooops. How'd that spoon get attached to this pillow. Riiiip. There we go. Let's just put that back up. My house is a mess. I'm sorry about that."

"It's really okay. Mine's always a mess too (lie). Ryan? Where'd he go? Ryan? (Walks down the hallway) Where are you? Ryan! You come out of that bathroom." (At this point, I get my first glimpse of the "laboratory" where the toilet paper and water experiment took place. There are lots of wods, some wet-haired barbies and various polly pocket body parts in states of disarray. My 5-year-old sociopath's trail of destruction.)

"Oh!" (what else can I say?)

3:03 -- Back in the living room. "This summer heat just makes me so sluggish. I don't feel like cleaning or anything."

"It's really okay. I understand."

3:04 -- I look over at my daughter, who is spraying her legs with the water bottle I use to discipline my dogs. Good conversation-starter, I think to myself.

"Roxanne! What are you doing, you silly?!?"

(suddenly taking on a hillbilly voice) "Water. It keeps the bugs off me."

Nice. We don't even have bugs. Yet.

3:05 -- "Ryan? Where'd he go again? Ryan? Oh, I think he's in the kitchen."

"That's okay. He's fine in there. There's nothing he can hurt. He's probably playing with the magnets. My neice likes that, too. He's fine."

"Ryan? Ryan? Come here. Oh; I'll go get him."

(inside my head:) Maybe the dog pee will look like a little spilled orange juice. Maybe it's dried by now. Maybe she won't notice cuz of the barstool over the top of it.

(as I see the reality of the situation:) There's a barstool dead center in the middle of my kitchen with liquid running from all avenues leading out. The dogs are sniffing it curiously. The two-year-old is leaving piss-prints everywhere he walks. I think we're going to need to move.

3:06 -- "Well, we should probably head home now. It's getting pretty late. Daddy will be home soon. Come on Ryan. Let's go honey."

"Okay. Well, thanks for visiting. Come back anytime!"