I Say, Fuggit

Here I am, taking a break from cleaning my house from top to bottom, all sweaty, hair everywhere, and exhausted. Why? All because we're having a Super Bowl Party. Well, I use the term "party" loosely here. We're having like 3 people over, which is a huge deal for us since we don't really entertain at all. So we're going through the routine, and halfway through mopping the kitchen, as I was brushing a stray hair out of my face, I wondered why the hell I was doing it. I mean, we clean and scrub for company...but we don't clean and scrub for ourselves (well, my sister does, but she's anal retentive -- she actually scrubs her bathroom floor with bleach every Sunday...I'm talking on her hands and knees!) We don't want our friends to see how we really live. Well, I say, fuck it. Next time you have company, don't do a damn thing. Sit right there on the couch in your sweats, drinking a nice cold beer, and scream "come in!" when they get there. "Hey! How ya doing! Come on in, don't trip over the shoes and the soccer ball. Damn kids. Oh, don't step there, the dog just puked. Anyway, come on in...there's beer in the cooler out back!" Yeah. Now that's a party.