Monday, June 26, 2006

Monday morning

It is important to understand a few things, before Pretty Lady confesses her state of mind this morning.

1) The vacuum cleaner is in the hospital, after Pretty Lady took it apart, changed the belt, bag, and filters, and it still clogged up and dumped goop all over her feet.

2) The vacuum cleaner is one of the most crucial possessions Pretty Lady owns, being a freelance business owner who entertains clients in her home, and also owning a large, fluffy cat.

3) Pretty Lady's most recent ex-boyfriend was very, very good at fixing things like vacuum cleaners. Unfortunately he was also psychotic and abusive, so Pretty Lady doesn't call him anymore.

It is important to understand this context, because Pretty Lady must confess that this morning, she wishes to God that some prince would come and take her away from all this.

She missed her early morning yoga class, because when she entered the living room at 8:40, the Brat was, once again, merrily baptizing the sofa. She rather doubts that it is still the FLUTD; she thinks he's just being a brat. He was hungry, and Pretty Lady has halted 24-hour dry cat food access.

So she chastised the Brat, fed him, and started removing the sofa cover for laundering--only to discover that the antique duck feather cushions within had irrevocably burst. She removed the cushions to the studio for stripping; the studio now resembles an explosion in a chicken coop.

Pretty Lady has a client arriving at 1:30 PM. There are three enormous bags of laundry to be taken to the laundromat, stacked in the living room. The couch is asunder. The studio is buried in duck feathers. The vacuum cleaner is in the hospital.

This is the moment when the prince is supposed to arrive, make the couch go away, send the cats to a kennel and Pretty Lady to a spa upstate. Upon her return, not only will there be an unstained, unburst couch in the living room, but a washer/dryer in the bathroom, hardwood flooring instead of industrial gray carpet, tin ceilings instead of asbestos panelling, and halogen light fixtures instead of fluorescent. (They never get turned on. Ugh.) And of course, the vacuum cleaner will be operating at peak function.

Forgive Pretty Lady for her lapse from stoic acceptance of reality. Mondays can be like that.


Anonymous said...

Ohhhh.sorry...but it does sound like an abstract expressionist moment.

Anonymous said...

I'm afraid I'm already a king, and my prince is a a bit young for you, yet. ;)

If it makes you feel any better, though, such occurances would only increase when your prince finally arrives. In fact, they'll really multiply if you make him a king and set about raising heirs to your throne.

The robe is always purpler...

Anonymous said...

Hmmph....Now Shaespeare comes upon the scene, looks around with one raised eye brow and says the prophetic words that later become a hit play.....
"Pretty Lady....
I do observe, that after all, there is
Much Ado About Nothing.
(You see, even when he talked, there were ten beats to a line).

The Aardvark said...

Had I a white horse, and no attachments...
but no, it is not to be, cherie.

Glad to see it got better.

You should try Down South when it's cooler.
We have this GREAT restaurant next door...and not a deep fat fryer in sight!

danonymous is terribly amusing!

Anonymous said...

should have shot the stupid cat...

or is that insensative?

Anonymous said...

ardvark said...
danonymous is terribly amusing!

But Am I terrible or..amusing?
For if I waiver, if I miss a beat,
these artful types will have me off my feet.
No restful pose will that be,as forced
am I to bended knee and thoughtful mood.
Aardvark chose his wording well ,line one
had ten beats, line two alas, shot to hell.

The Aardvark said...

All critique the humble 'vark, betimes,
His metre, yes, but ne'er his worthy rhymes.
With cadence true my love for Lady Belle
I chaste proclaim despite thy carping knell.

But thanks I give thee for setting the bar.
Since senior English, I've not come so far!