that the truth. The majority of her chores come after dinner, when she is required to: put the dishes in the dishwasher away, put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, start the dishwasher, wipe down the counters and table, feed the cats, and take the trash out. When she’s motivated – ie, "As soon as you get your chores done, we’ll go swimming/ get ice cream/ watch a movie" – she can finish in ten minutes or less. On the average night, though, it takes her at least an hour to do everything. Poor overworked, abused child… Speaking of the spud, she called last night from DC. Getting her to actually make conversation on the phone is like pulling teeth. "Are you having fun?" "Yes." "Are you obeying Michelle?" "Yes." "Will you be glad to get home Friday?" "Yes." "What did you visit today?" "The White House. The Wall." "See anyone famous?" "No." And so forth. The kitten is obsessed with Coke. Every time I open a can, she’s right there, sniffing at it. I don’t know if it’s the smell, or the sound of the carbonated bubbles that obsesses her so, but she’s always sticking her little moist nose in the hole on the top of my Coke cans. This morning, I took the plate that held my blueberry pop-tarts until I ate them, and poured a little Coke onto it, offering it to her. She sniffed around it for a good, long time before trying a couple of slurps and sneezing. I guess she’s undecided about the whole Coke experience. After being surprised in the shower by the cleaning lady last week, I got up when Fred left for work shortly after 6 am, and rushed around to make the house presentable. No, this is not "cleaning for the cleaning lady", it’s picking up so that the cleaning lady can clean without piles of junk in her way. If it weren’t for the fact that I have to pick up before the cleaning lady gets here, there’d be piles and piles of books, papers, and god knows what else all over the place. Robyn, you’re saying. Why is it that you still have the cleaning lady come every week when you’re no longer working, and could perfectly well clean the house your own lazy ass self? That’s an excellent question. Because I’m the laziest gal in the whole USA, and if it were left up to me to keep the house clean, it would fall into squalor and disrepair faster than you could look up "squalor" on the merriam-webster site to make sure you spelled it correctly (definition of squalor: the quality or state of being squalid. Ah yes, that clears it up). Lordy, I need a nap. Only 8 hours of sleep last night. And the cleaning lady is here, so I need to go stay out of her way.