I've been busy blowing my nose with one hand and folding laundry, or stacking wood, with the other. Why is it that Fall colds invariably coincide with Indian summer. Is it so freaking hot out or do I have a fever? The sun is trying to kill me.
The majority of this unfolded, clean laundry was never dirty in the first place. It was, however, suspect, since it had been lying on beds or floors or unfolded in baskets on the floor in a house that seems to be infested with fleas. My biceps are bulging from the 345 scrubbing steel wool baths I have given my poor raw dog, yet still, they hop across my laptop when I'm in bed. Yet still my dog wakes me up in the night with her incessant scratching.
So I brought out the big guns, said to hell with environmental friendliness, clove shampoo and diamataceous earth or whatever it is called and went to the vet for some flea-be-gone of the poisonous persuasion. They gave me a bazooka bottle full of toxic spray and I followed the directions:
First I vacuumed, after having bought myself, on impulse, a brandy new vacuum cleaner, a Eureka Mighty Mite, seeing as how the one I was using was on loan from my parents, not that they knew I had it, and in all honesty, didn't suck. This, in vacuum speak, is not a good thing. Not the same thing as a date that doesn't suck, or a vacation that doesn't suck. A vacuum that doesn't suck, not to confuse anyone, sucks.
At age 45, I think I deserve a vacuum cleaner that sucks.
House vacuumed, dog and favorite stuffed animals on the porch, children trundled off to friends' houses, beds stripped, I wielded the spray can and had at it.
Every minute or so I pushed my face into a window screen and gasped for fresh air. After I was finished I retreated outside to wait. The can said the house is safe to return inside in an hour. I waited two, for good measure.
Once the coast was clear, and the toxic cloud had settled, I came back inside, said a prayer for all the dead fleas and their offspring, boing, brought the dog back inside and immediately dragged her upstairs into the bath for a final, ceremonial bath/flea drowning. Then I applied Advantix, a topical poison, to the back of her neck, right where Isla's nose ends up when she hugs the dog.
If this doesn't work, I'm moving back to France. It's as good an excuse as any.
Well, it glowers at me, much like the laundry does, to stack it before it rains again, and before the next load, and the load after that, and the load after that, gets delivered. Any native Vermonter knows not to be fooled by the tease of Indian Summer. Winter is still coming, and it could be here tomorrow.
All the more reason to go for a walk today....