(I was asked to rerun one of Janet’s stories, so here it is. This was written nearly 17 years ago. Can you believe she still puts up with me?)
There are a few things I need to get off my chest; Rusty, for one. He is about to drive me crazy, or should I say crazier.
When he’s out of town, one part of me misses him, and another is glad he’s out of my hair. At least when he’s gone, I can get the house clean. Rusty can walk into a perfectly clean house, and in a matter of seconds, no, nanoseconds, the place looks like it’s been hit by a cyclone. He’s sort of like that child named Pig Pen in the Peanuts comic strip. He’s worse than a teenager. He drops clothes, bags, papers, and anything else he is holding. And if I move whatever it is he dropped, and he comes looking for it, well then he tears up the rest of the house looking for it. He could not find his head, if it were not attached. When he walks out the door, it takes about ten minutes for all the pictures on the walls to stop swinging.