I just noticed drumming on the roof, a memo that the forecasted cold front has arrived at last and maybe it won't be so hot tomorrow. Today was like walking through soup. A broth-based soup, admittedly, but soup nonetheless. Maybe in August we'll get some real cream of chicken and hearty pea soup days, but this was bad enough. I'm suprised Midwesterners haven't started evolving gills by now--between the torrents of rain all spring and the 100% humidity, they might come in handy.
My husband's friend from Germany is dropping in tomorrow in the middle of his cross-country drive from New York to Colorado. I find it very amusing that our guest bedroom is also my study, and that all the bedding is left over from my single days. And it's very flowery. The comforter is rose-woven tapestry, there is a filmy sage curtain on the window, there are floral Redouté prints on the wall. The nightstand is stacked hatboxes. The best part? The only people who have stayed here are men. Ha. I should install a shadowbox filled with those creepy Precious Moments figurines to complete the ambience of haunted Great Aunt Hilda's room.
Anyway, I feel a little bad for Ralf driving through rain and staying in my emasculating guest room, but mostly I feel like I need to clean the toilet before he gets here. I have a weird obsession with never presenting a dirty toilet to guests. As though that would cause them to judge me and my housekeeping abilities and render an immoveable judgement of slovenly sow upon me. So I need to go weild a toilet brush now.