“Kitchen looks great. Thanks,” said an appreciative Deck as he entered the room. “Wait. Why is the kitchen so clean?” His appreciation gave way to fear. He knew what this level of clean meant.
Amy, from the other side of the kitchen, turned to stare with wide, anxious at her husband, her yellow rubber gloved hands wrapped around a mop, and said words she that caused dread on the brightest of days, “my parents are coming.”
“Snap.” Deck dropped his computer bag to the floor and began taking mail and paperwork off the dining room table behind him. “How long do we have?”
“An hour,” Amy said, “I slipped and told them I took the day off.”
“Oh, yikes. Did you have a good day prior to that point?” Deck asked as he centered the dining table’s centerpiece.
“It was, like, 9 o’clock when they called. So I’ve been cleaning all day,” Amy said, annoyed.
“Which rooms are left?” Deck asked, leveling the frame of a family portrait taken the Thanksgiving prior.
“Check the pantry. If there aren’t any crackers in there my mom will think we’re unable to properly feed ourselves and she will bring a box of crackers every visit from here until the day I die. Not when she dies. Oh no, somehow crackers will still show up after she dies,” Amy continued on a tangent for a moment.
“You sure you don’t want free crackers forever?” Deck questioned.
“It’s not free, Deck. Nothing is ever free,” Amy stopped everything to ensure eye contact with Deck was maintained through that sentence.
“Checking the pantry,” Deck obliged.