The Great Farce

Today is the day of deception. The in-laws are currently driving down to stay for Thanksgiving which means that I have to pretend that I haven't been living in a grease pit for the past year. You know you're not messing around when you get the old tooth brush out to clean grout, ovens, floor boards, and anything else that the fear of the discovery drives you to. I know, I know, is anybody really going to notice that my grout is 1.5 shades lighter than it was this morning? Especially when I really can't get it clean anyways? Probably not. But something about the Thanksgiving in-law company makes an otherwise pragmatic dame spend vast amounts of time frantically picking her oven dial with a toothpick so that the "375" degree indicator might possibly be presentable enough for a night on the town.

Of course, after the feast tomorrow (I say "feast" rather optimistically since I have no clue what I'm going to make) my kitchen will be back to it's original state and all will be discovered. I'm usually the kind of person who doesn't do last night's dishes until the there are no dishes left to be used. I'd rather not brush my teeth at night but can be persuaded upon pitiful requests from my husband, and a germ has to be big enough to be seen by the bare eye before I'll take the effort to decontaminate. But I've lived this far. So what compels me to all of a sudden toothbrush to death every non-porous surface in my house? In-laws. Plain and simple.