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Getting ready for ‘inspection’ can be exhausting

I spent the better part of Labor Day laboring, getting ready for “inspection.”

You know that saying about how your company isn’t coming to give your house a good going over or the white glove test to see how much deeper the dust is since the last visit, that they’re coming to see you and don’t especially care at all about such things?

Not to fuss.

Not to worry.

Yeah, right. Tell that to my cleaning lady — me!

Yes, I am having company, and that includes my oldest sister whom I fear the most because she’s super organized. Super with a capital “S.” I can’t hold an alphabetized spice rack to her power-cleaning, everything’s-in-order ways.

In a world where we’re not supposed to compare ourselves and we’re all uniquely, wildly wonderful, I quake in my rubber cleaning gloves at the thought of her arrival.

First I’m all excited, though.

My big sister who I don’t see all that often is coming for a visit. How cool is that!

Then I start fretting, however, after I hang up the phone, ending the conversation where she’s called to make her reservations for the downstairs suite at the homestead.

And that gives me “reservations” because herein lies one herculean cleaning quandry.

How do you turn a dungeon into suitable accommodations for a few days and nights for your sister and brother-in-law?

Short of stick a distracting apple in its mouth and a colorful bandana around its neck, it’s the same process to make a pig pretty, I suppose.

Now they’ve stayed in the dungeon before and liked it. It’s downstairs and has its element of privacy. It’s good for sleeping since there aren’t any windows. Perfect if you’re a vampire, I guess. And it’s got cable, a real plus if you’re the Taco Bell dog.

Plus, there’s a bathroom close at hand that gives the impression in speech anyway that it’s all a perfect setup for overnight company.

Mind you, the downstairs I’m talking about, part of it, is what used to be home to the coal furnace and the nearby coal cellar that would be piled high in one area with this fossil fuel.

Now the room is a nice enough rec room, what I call my cowgirl cave since it is duly decorated western style, but it runs right smack into the laundry room/mud room area where we all enter after taking care of the horses and other such dirt-and-dust, mud-and-muck duties.

With the proper renovation budget, Hillary from “Love It or List It” could transform this area and give it some real “wow” factor,” far superior to its current “wow” factor, as in “wow — this is a mess!”

Well, long cleaning story turned shortened cleaning story, I did my best, wondering all the while, for example, how something so small as a bathroom can take such a big chunk of time to make presentable.

I handed out eviction notices to families of spiders, annoyed their lifestyles were being disrupted. I spoke with authority but compassion — “Sorry, buddy, this isn’t working out right now.”

I posted on the bathroom door a very welcoming sign — “Stay Out!!!”

I don’t want to have to clean the hotel multiple times before the guests arrive.

Violators will be prosecuted or at least yelled at a little.

So the downstairs accommodations are ready and waiting.

Inspection time looms.

And it’s one pretty pig.

(Kiaski, a resident of Richmond, is a staff columnist and community editor for the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times. She can be contacted at jkiaski@heraldstaronline.com.)

(Kiaski, a resident of Richmond, is a staff columnist and community editor for the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times. She can be contacted at jkiaski@heraldstaronline.com.)

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