The house is in total disarray. The dining room is the staging area for all box packing. Piles of boxes are broken down flat and stacked against the walls of every room. Bubble wrap, tape, stickers and pieces of cardboard litter the table. I am still in the clothes I wore to the jogging track this morning. I haven't bathed. This morning, feeling a little cheeky, I pulled the cover up haphazardly on the bed, not making it but covering the sheets partially. I feel strangely rebellious over this. There is a stack of laundry that needs to be put away on the wash machine. A fine dusting of white Jack Russell hair has fallen silently on all the glass table tops. I see it, but think I'm too busy to get to it just yet. Diane calls on the way home from work and I send her to the moving company in search of mirror boxes and strapping tape. I crank up 'The Emancipation of Mimi" on the sound system and begin the assemble empty boxes . . .

The phone rings. I think about ignoring it but decide to answer.

"Hello?"
"Mary" Diane sounds a little frantic. "A realtor just called, he is parked out in front of the house with a client. They want to see the house, now."
"WTF?"
"They know we are an appointment only listing, they want to see the house anyway", Diane says.
"What am I supposed to do with the dogs?"
"Just put them in the backyard. They'll just be able to look at the back yard through the window", Diane directs.
"The house is a wreck!! Did you tell the realtor that we are moving. . ." I whine.
"He doesn't care if it is messy." (I hear the doorbell ringing) "Oh, and get my jewelry box and put it away. Also my laptop is in my briefcase and my family jewels that I picked up from the safety deposit box need to bee put away . . .", she continues.
Knock, knock, knock!!!
"Just a minute", I yell in my sweetest, yet frantic voice.

You can guess how it went. The dogs were barking in chorus. The client was asking me questions that I could not hear. Thankfully, years of playing in a punk rock band trained me to read lips to a certain degree. I managed to stuff them all (the dogs) in kennels while the client & realtor looked at the garage (stacked from floor to ceiling with boxes).

The client says, "Ohhh, I don't think we could fit 3 cars in there."
I chime in, "Well, not now, but when all the debris is gone . . .we used to fit 3 cars in there".

The client is in the backyard. He is looking at the pool and asks me if it is heated. The dogs are barking so loudly that I think he has asked if the pool is pitted.

"No. it is in good condition", I explain.

He looks quizzically at the realtor who has the spec sheet on the house. The realtor points out, "It says it is heated, here."

"Oh yes, it is heated", I smile; "There is the heater over there" I point.

"That's what I asked you", the client says.

"Oh, sorry, the barking . . ." Blush.

Since I didn't get the time to put away all the jewels, I followed the realtor and client around upstairs. This did not please the realtor. The client was okay with it.

They left very quickly. The doorbell rings again. I look out the peephole and there is a young woman standing there. Not another one, I think. I open the door.

"Hi, I'm Rosa, I'm here to clean the house . . ."