We’re going to Perth for almost a week tomorrow morning. This is our first proper trip back home since we moved here four years ago. I’ve been back twice, once for a funeral and once for work. (Well, CJ was working, I was swanning around the hotel pretending to be a rich lady of leisure, which, I do frighteningly well.)
And this is the first time we’re leaving our two much doted upon kitties behind. Sigh. We’ve had a weekend away, but not a whole week, and I’m, you know, a control freak, so I’m currently doing all the things a control freak does before they go on holiday and leave their house and their surrogate children in the care of a complete stranger. To whit:
- Developing some sort of tropical disease. Sigh. This is not uncommon for me. A tropical disease will mean I have to stay home and guard my ordered house and make sure my furry children are ok. My back is aching, my lips are dry and I’ve been shivering, sneezing and snotty all day. This will all hopefully disappear once we leave and I realise I’m where I am, the furry children are where they are, and the world did not end.
- Polishing the taps in the bathroom. What? The cat-sitter (who’s a qualified vet nurse, of course) can’t possibly stay here if the bathroom taps aren’t shiny. Pft.
- Squeeze the furry children.
- Listing all the clothes I’m going to wear and on what day and then packing them and ticking them off the list. My best friend tells me this is a very Virgo thing to do. She then tells me, as a Virgo, she’s never done it and perhaps it is a bit weird. She then reassures me that, as the clothes horse I am, it’s probably within the realms of normal. Phew.
- Writing a several page long epic poem with rhyming couplets to the vet nurse (who came over last night to meet the furry children and has heard it all already, but not in rhyming couplets so I think that makes it ok) with headings, sub-headings, bullet points and several hundred phone numbers, including a vet, which is probably quite rude because, you know, she knows what she’s doing, which is precisely the reason she’s been hired. God, it can be tiring being me.
- Cleaning the fridge. See second dot point.
- Going through all of my clothes and jewellery and throwing things away, packing things up to give away and tidying them up. For anyone who has seen my clothing and jewellery collection, this is no mean feat, and should, in no circumstances, unless you are a seasoned professional, be attempted the night before one leaves on holiday with much more pressing matters to attend to. This is what a control freak does, people. Controls her things.
- Squeeze the furry children and try not to cry.
- Avoid the vacuuming. I hate vacuuming. My back hurts. I have more interesting things in which to control right now. CJ can do the vacuuming.
- Preparing to ‘beautify’ myself. This includes the shaving of the legs (thank god I’m practically a mushroom and that doesn’t take long), the painting of the nails etc.
- Squeeze the furry children and sob quietly so as not to alarm them.
All this controlling and doing and thinking is tiring. Especially when you are harbouring a tropical disease.
CJ is about to breeze in the door, full of the joys of spring and being on holiday. He will sing while he does the vacuuming. He will then throw whatever clothes his fingers touch first into the suitcase. These things will take him 7.34 minutes. In the morning he will shower, get dressed and likely not even look in the mirror. This will take him 45.23 seconds.
Next life, I’m wearing the penis.