Movin' on a Sunday Afternoon

Okay, Saturday. But it's coming. I'm moving into the little house next weekend, and am spending Martin Luther King, Jr., weekend packing and cleaning. I'm so ready. Mentally, not actually. My next task is to wipe out the oven cleaner that I sprayed last night (ugh, unpleasant job). Which is why I'm taking a couple of minutes to blog right now. Avoidance behavior. I don't expect to get any deposit back from this apartment, but still I'm making a sincere effort to get it clean for my own sense of satisfaction. Much to do. I bought my dream shower curtain liner yesterday at Bed, Bath & Beyond. Yes, I have a dream shower curtain liner. It's one of those water-resistant fabric ones in motels, not the plastic one that sticks to you in the shower or sticks to itself in mildewy folds. Heaven. I also got a new door mat (sort of tradition with myself when I move) and a lovely pair of pink rubber gloves for the aforementioned stove cleaning.

I just love imagining the possibilities of the new place while sitting in the old place.

People at work keep saying I should have a housewarming party, but I'm hesitating: first, I just don't want to subject my cute, clean little house to the damaging effects of a rambunctious crowd, at least not right away; and secondly, I don't want an avalanche of crappy little crap things. Maybe if I wait until Spring and ask people to bring me garden tools and things I need like plungers and mops and indoor plants. Would that be appropriate? Gift cards from Home Depot would be incredibly welcome. Or cash, frankly. What I really want is for people to drop by in ones and twos, I give them a quick tour, they hand me a rake or a hoe with a bow on it, and then they leave. Sort of like a real estate open house with a gift policy. "Hi, hi, it's great you came, this is the living room, isn't it cute, thanks for the shovel, and do you really have to go so soon?" Two minutes tops per person. A house cooling. Chilly reception, stingy crumb- and drip-free eats (crudite without the dip), bottled water, and a quick departure. Seven to nine AM on a Sunday morning. A pre-church thang. Take your shoes off before entering. Don't touch anything. No number twos. Lower your voice. Reverential, like you're visiting a Tibetan shrine, m'kay? Tiptoe. Then out.

All right, maybe I'll have a real party. The Pergo can take it. Rental tables and chairs in the back yard, and delicious eats from the oven. Beverages of many lands. A nice Saturday afternoon in late February, when it's a little warmer, and possibly a volleyball tournament in the park across the street. But the no-shite policy still goes, damnit!