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Page Two of What I Really Want Is ...

I wonder if there are cleaning classes. Must be. There are classes for all sorts of odd things. There's a class available nearby for hopeful spiritualists. (The possibilities here for inane jokes are endless so we'll just leave it alone.)

Of course, classes in decorating are everywhere. I expect I would be the instructor's worst nightmare, 'cause I'm not going to be putting crystal bobbles on lampshades, artfully placing forty thousand cushions on the bed (how long would it take to remove those before finally hitting the sack?), or agonising over subtly different shades of browns or whites or, as I see is this year's couleur de choix, apparently, eggshell.

Eggshell! Say it isn't so! I lived with eggshell all my looong married life because my former husband and I couldn't agree on a colour. Now, considering my preferences, as discussed, you'd think it wouldn't be a big issue, but the guy liked blue, and only blue. Well, florals, too — but blue. Without going into details, you can see that we had a problem from the get-go.

In the end, how-to websites are the answer. They are amazing. They tell you how to do things you never thought of doing. For example, I never thought about preparing for a critical illness. I figure should I become critically ill, I'll think about it then; or, preferably, someone else will. Besides, why tempt fate? You can worry yourself into an early grave with this sort of planning. Make a will and assign a just-in-case Power of Attorney and get on with living, for goodness' sake. Of course, I am coming at this from the point-of-view of a citizen of a country with public healthcare.

And how about stringing a hybrid tennis racket? Who knew there were such things? Do you use genetically modified cat gut? I didn't really read that article. The idea that I could actually play tennis without seriously injuring myself or partner is ludicrous. The possibilities are endless. My shoes are always coming untied for starters. Then there's the problem of practicing my swing while we waited for a court. That would be good for at least a black eye for one of us. The mere thought of my vaulting over the net at the end of the game, because I would lose, is just comic in a sick way.

However, there was one useful article on using doe calls to attract whitetail deer. As a nature lover, this could be really useful. Deer are very hard to photograph but if their little head were doing the thinking, as is so often the case with human males, they might throw caution to the wind and that would be one fine close-up. Hopefully he would figure out that he had been tricked before things got out of hand.

I could find nothing on cleaning a really grotty house. There were no handy tips on extracting dust from a complete house at one fell swoop; no ideas on removing gummy grease from wooden cabinets without raising a sweat or nausea; no amazing strategies on cleaning second story non-opening windows that obliterate the aforementioned view (I'm investigating cherry-pickers — the machine); nothing on how to clean skylights even from the inside; nothing on cleaning the blades of a fan that sits at the 20' foot mark.

And that's the problem with the how-toers on these sites. They do these jobs as a matter of course. Dirt doesn't build up in their shiny worlds. They are not real.

What I really need is staff.

©2009 Patricia Beurteaux for SeniorWomen.com

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