Sunday, May 18, 2014

There once was a man named Pickle.

No really, there was.  He came and power-washed our house today.

My mom went to high school with him.  Apparently, when he was in like first grade, he and a bunch of boys decided to come up with nicknames for themselves, and since another boy claimed Cucumber, Pickle picked Pickle.  And it stuck.  Even teachers called him Pickle.  He's 54 years old and STILL CALLED PICKLE.  And he's an absolute riot.

So yeah, my mom got in touch with him and he came to power-wash our house today.  Except he didn't just power-wash the house.  He also power-washed the deck furniture, the porch furniture, all our trash cans (even the ones in the house), the driveway, the mailbox, the brick things at the end of our driveway, Mom's car, and a glider we had sitting outside that we were planning on getting rid of that is so clean now we put it on our front porch.  And then he went over the house a second time.  No, I'm not kidding.

The man worked for almost eight solid hours, didn't eat, didn't take a drink of water, didn't go to the bathroom, nothing.  I do believe Mom has found her a new regular power-washer.

I scrubbed doors, walls, baseboards, and trim for seven hours.  It took an entire box of Clorox wipes and four magic erasers.  My mom did...all sorts of things.  The upside is the living room, dining room, hallway, and laundry room are SPARKLING.  The bad news is I still don't have a bed and every part of my body aches even after I laid down for 3 solid hours.

Tomorrow I get to scrub a cabinet.  I should get to see Matt, though, which is always a plus.

And now I'm going to watch another episode of Chicago Fire and then sleep.

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