Washed the car, cleaned the floor mats (including the one where the leaky oil can sat for far too long), and vacuumed up all the gunk, yuck.
Washed windows, swept and mopped floors, vacuumed up a spider so big it fought back against the suction longer than you'd expect, yuck.
Dusted every duty place, even the dim recesses beneath the plant table by the big picture window, where I unearthed a basket full of mini-binoculars (so that's where they went!) and immense complex colonies of dust mice, yuck.
Swept the front stoop, pulled weeds from between the pavers, and encountered a gazillion angry ants whose larval chambers my thumb had accidentally invaded, yuck.
Planted flowers, mowed the yard, and trimmed with the weed-eater as much as possible considering the sodden weather earlier this week and the sudden dental emergency that led to the kind of pain that precludes weed-eating, yuck.
Having filled my monthly quota of yuck, I'm ready to welcome my houseguests tomorrow and relax for a few days, and I suppose the spiders and gunk and ants and dust mice can also relax, but do you think they'll thank me for the respite? The little ingrates.
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