I walked into the house after work no differently than I have done hundreds of times before.
There was no sense of foreboding, no feeling of impending doom. Just me coming home after a hard day in the salt mines.
But danger was there, it was lurking, waiting for the unsuspecting victim to step into it's steely jaws of misery.
What, you ask, was the trial I was facing?
Was it a rampaging horde of Mongol warriors bent on taking over the world and they decided to start with my house? I wish.
Perhaps a rabid timber wolf had some how wandered down from the wilds of northern B.C., found its way to my home, snuck through the backdoor undetected and was waiting to pounce the moment I walked in the room.
I should be so lucky.
I did not even see it until it was upon me, until I was in its grasp, it was then and only then did I realize my wife had entered the spring cleaning madness zone.
It caught me completely by surprise. She was in a full-blown spring cleaning frenzy by the time I walked through the front door.
The cleaning tsunami began to build in the morning while I was blissfully working away, ignorant of the situation brewing in my castle.
Once home, it took me a while before I became aware of what was happening, and by then I was being swept away in the cleaning frenzy like a cork in the ocean.
The Missus started by asking me to put a couple of things in the garage, no big deal, so I put the items in the garage and went back into my humble home to see what else my beloved needed.
It was then that I froze in my tracks, and the full gravity of situation hit like a bird flying into a window.
There she was, standing on a desk reaching to the far corner of a top shelf, cleaning every last speck of dust from the most hard-to-reach places in the house.
I knew that could mean only one thing and I was officially recruited to help with the spring-cleaning frenzy.
The orders then came fast and frantic: ìCould you please pass me that dust rag? Take those out the garage. Do we need to keep these? What are these? Put that in the garbage. Does this go on the keep, give or throwaway pile?î
My mind was spinning. How had I not seen it coming. It happens every year, but this year I walked into it like a blind cat running into a rottweiler.
My first thought was to clutch my chest, fake a heart attack, wobble around a little bit and hit the ground moaning and groaning.
Then, as she went to call 911, I would bolt for the door, jump in my car and head for the hills until the frenzy was over. Perhaps I could find a nice cave or something to cower, I mean, live in for a week or two.
Sorry children, but you are on your own. When it comes to the frenzy it is every man for himself and you would have to find your own way to get through.
Besides, I have been enduring the frenzy for a lot longer than you young uns have, so it is only fair you take up the slack.
But I did not feign a medical crisis, instead I did what any self-respecting husband would do.
I squared my shoulders, looked my wife directly in the eyes and proclaimed, ìYes dear, what ever you need.î
I am sure the fake heart attack would not have worked anyway, as once she realized I had escaped she would have found my cave and, after giving it a thorough cleaning, would have guided me home for continued participation in the joyous springtime ritual.
I am not sure exactly what the next few days will bring, but with talk of rearranging this room, removing stuff from that room and buying cleaning supplies by the truck load I have a pretty good idea.
Does anyone have a cave I could rent for a few days?
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