There is so much dust in my house if I sit still long enough I imagine I would eventually look a bit like Santa, covered in a snow like dust hat with a matching beard. I would like to think that even with the beard I would be a tad bit sexier and with better abs. I vacuum, sweep, swifter and wet swifter and then repeat, and then repeat. I have a family of dust bears living under my bed, notice how I didn’t say bunnies. I have not named them yet.

There are so many weeds in my yards, I just decided to water them and tell people they are my plants. I am hopeful they will grow tall enough and I will eventually climb them to sky and bring back some golden eggs. There better be an egg bearing chicken beyond those clouds! These weeds could have only have come from magic beans.

There is so much grass that needs to be mowed, I am sure I could feed a modest herd of sheep or goats. I could quit my job and just herd them around my yard. I imagine myself in a white robe with one of those wooden sticks that resembles a candy cane. Oh, and let’s not forget those sandals I assume Jesus wore, but I’m sure my toes are in better condition with a nice colorful polish, and my hair would not be unruly as it blows in the wind as my animals graze until they could burst.

There are so many ants coming and going in and out of my house, I, in desperation, read that drawing a line in chalk where the ants might be coming in will stop them (they don’t like walking through it). I drew a line around my entire house. Now, my house looks like a crime scene. I, somehow, still have ants. Which confirms my biggest fear. The ants are living in my house with me, they must have abandoned their colony long ago and moved in. I keep asking to speak to the Queen, but I think she’s dodging me, much like a stubborn squatter. I have to say I’m a bit jealous, she has all these drones bringing her food, my food. Before I evict her I need to learn her secrets, especially if it means never going grocery shopping again.

There is a house on the corner that consumes so much time that ticks between Friday and Sunday. Between the dusting, mowing, chalk outlining, and weed watering I do an extra-ordinary amount of cursing in my front and back yard, which leaves me exhausted and sometimes hoarse. I fear my neighbors might start making their little ones wear noise canceling headphone while I am out doing my yard work. So, my fist line of business when I return from my weed stalk is to deliver the golden eggs I collected to my neighbors as a sign of thanks and for paying witness to a seemingly possessed Santa, goat herding, crime scene outliner that they have no choice but to put up with for 48 hours of home owning bliss that repeats weekend after weekend, and then repeats.