reinje's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Guest House Note He came to visit this past weekend, and Cherry Valley is still glowing from His Wonderfulness. The guy is madge, I tell you. We stayed, thanks to yours truly, at a BEE-ootiful house in Cooperstown, home to the Baseball Hall of Fame, free of charge I might add. A couple of weeks ago, while shopping at this gorge store called the Purple Parrot, I was eavesdropping on the conversation of the store owner and the Guest House owner, who looks kind of like a feminine version of Dominick Dunne. As I was purchasing my fabulous pair of shoes, it came up in conversation that I am here with Glitter-and-be-Gay Opera, and Guest House Owner immediately offered me the use of the guest house for my escapades with Him while He is here. Needless to say, I took her up on the opportunity, and the accommodations were second-to-none. Overlooking Glitter Lake, this place is to die for. Most guest houses are nothing more than shacks, but this was a bona-fide house, with heirlooms, rare books, paintings, and cable. Most of you know that my decorating style is modern (natch - the modern decor has a way of looking cleaner), but this New England/Martha Stewart dream home has me thinking twice. Guest House owner left charming notes around the house for our benefit, mostly to tell us about the TV, the stocked refrigerator, etc. etc. Now, I must remind you of my last journal entry - you know, the one where I said I wasn't going to clean anymore. You are never going to believe this in a million years, but one of the notes in the bathroom, written as graciously as Martha Herself would have penned it, asked if we would be so kind as to squeegee down the shower stall after each use. And there was a squeegee. And Windex for the glass panes of the shower. I am not kidding. What does this mean, this? I mean, what are the chances that after I forsake all cleaning, that Guest House Owner, or anyone else for that matter, would actually leave a note asking me to squeegee down their shower walls? I am completely mystified by this. Naturally, I obliged, but I felt conflicted the entire time. In fact, I actually tried to get Him to do the dirty deed for me, but He didn't fall for it. An additional note about shower stalls: when I came home to Cherry Valley this morning, I noticed muddy footprints in my own private shower. Who was in my bathroom? And if they showered in there, why were their footprints still muddy? Are all of these shower stall mysteries some kind of a cosmic sign? Maybe it's some kind of punishment for what I said in my last entry. Ach du lieber. It's only a shower stall. Giddy with the prospect of schmutz... - Reinje 11:59 p.m. - 2005-06-27 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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