Stuff never seems to stop coming out of that dang box. I have to say, it’s disturbingly light. What lengths do chemists go to create a substance with so little density? Anyway, I bought one three weeks ago thinking we were almost out, but the old one’s still filling tablespoons for Cheryl’s elixir of life (coffee).

I had a similar experience this weekend. I was a mad cleaning machine Saturday morning. Cheryl was out on some errands, stressing about all the work that needed to be done around the house. So, I gave myself a good kick in the but and took the house by storm.

Some of you may suspect ulterior motives – like a cover-up for a yet to be revealed fuck-up. Or, you may be thinking this was part of “Operation Butter-up” – a vile plot to bend will to my favor. Well to you I say, I like the way you think. But no, as hard as it is to believe, this was a selfless act – though my unconscious mind will neither confirm nor deny the allegation.

Before I get to the meat of this post, let me first warn you: storms can be messy. They can cloud your judgement, drown your spirit, and blow away your energy reserves.

As it happens, I have an example.

I was cleaning the floors throughout the house, and I’d arrived in our livingroom. I knew I was going to have to shake out the rug and sweep the floor, but it was raining outside. So I thought I’d just shake out the rug over the living room floor and sweep up the stuff that came out with the rest of the dirt.

So there I was, 6’1″ with skinny, long arms, holding the folded rug up at shoulder level (bringing the end up just above the floor), using my full wingspan. I was kicking it with alternating feet to spectacular effect. I’m sure it was quite a sight. I’m equally sure it was very effective.

How was I to know a medium sized rug could hold enough sand for a private beach?

“How indeed?” my wife may ask.