Identifying with the Wrong Characters

B’s writing assignment requires a friend’s help: he has written a description of our apartment’s floor layout, his friend has to draw a map from the description.  That means that the friend and essay must meet: the fun way for that to happen is for the friend to come over; therefore we must clean house.

DH has lately been fanatical about cleaning the kitchen: which implies two things; I am blessed WAY beyond my deserts, and I don’t have to clean the kitchen today.  But we do need to tidy up the loose flotsam and vacuum.

Which gets me to characters.  Who did I want to be when I grew up?  Something Dad thought was cool, Mom thought noble and who wore long hair.  Scientist (OK, the hair had to go up for that) author, astronaut – someone like Princess Lea.  I never checked with anyone how many intergalactic princess jobs there were, but Lea was at the back of my list.  Who am I most like?  Someone ranting about incompetent minions.

I am a domestic Cruella Devil – minus the fur and skunk stripe.  Sometimes I get to be the fretful mother in the background nearly spoiling the fun from Beckfoot.

Oh well, the house is picked up, and I can always behave better next time?

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