You know when you see a future possibility, and you think to yourself, "Well, isn't THAT an intriguing possibility," and you commit yourself to that possibility, and then you find yourself in a blind panic the day before that possibility - which is now a certainty - takes place?
That is what I have done. And she's going to be here in 24 hours.
The rest of my province has gone all insane recently over the arrival of various world leaders and the stylishly-hatted Queen of England. Those things did not phase me.
But my Famous Author Cousin is coming tomorrow, with her whole family, and they're staying at my house. She's an author, a blogger, an artist, a speaker, a gardener, a home-renovator, a canner, a mother of award-winning children, a wife of a guy who was "brain-drained" to the US, a wedding-gown seamstress, and I strongly suspect she was quietly crafting policy at the G20 a few weeks ago. Her Christmas newsletters are creative and brilliant. She was Grandma's favourite. AND she has a fantastic sense of humour.
I am toast. Burnt toast. Burnt toast that dropped on the floor, jam side down, and had cat hair on it when you picked it up again.
Spike's in Texas, so he's no good to me. Millhouse hasn't expired, which would have made things simpler, but I'll just lock him away somewhere so he can't attack anyone. Other than that, I just need to clean everything, do laundry, buy some new pillows, blow up an air mattress, prepare for every breakfast possibility, landscape, hose down the siding, finish staining the front porch (from last year), create perfect weather and nicely coif my own head, which is going to be tricky, since I completely missed my last appointment, and my hair is attempting a hostile takeover of the world.
Like I said - toast.
I don't know WHAT I was thinking.
