Saturday, October 13, 2012

They Sure Don't Make Pigskin Like They Used To

As a part of the preparations for the impending overnight visit of Genius's friend, all hands were on deck this morning for last-minute spiffing.

The organized chaos of the spic-and-spanning was a bit like giving a mouse a cookie. An ADD mouse. I moved items on the counter, then I had to wipe the counter, then the stove looked grimy in comparison, but a shiny stove is no good if that back thing with the controls is spotted, and the knick-knacks lodged atop the stove-back needed a good scrubbing so they didn't stick out like greasy thumbs.

One such item was a stand-up, three-inch-tall, Pepto-Bismol-colored ceramic pig, with a hole in his head to shove three bright pink measuring spoons. A long-ago student gifted me with that cute little pig, so precious with his painted-on chef's apron and cheerful snout. If there's one thing the world does not need, it's a pig with greasy skin. I chucked Piggy into the leftover dishwater which I was using for wiping down the countertops. Between swipes at my burgundy-speckled counter, I turned to wipe off Piggy. Not with the dishwashing sponge. That would just be wrong. I grabbed a soft- and rough-sided sponge that Genius had previously used for the shower door. I used the soft side, of course. To no avail.

Swatches of Piggy's pink skin flaked off upon contact. Not his entire epidermis. Just spots here and there. Pink gone. White underneath. Like a case of vitiligo. "Oops!" I said. "Piggy is peeling like he has a bad sunburn."

Genius screamed at me. "Stop scrubbing him with the rough side! No wonder. You're scraping off his skin!"

"I am not. I used the soft side. I don't want to throw him away. He holds measuring spoons!" Because, you see, as a new gourmet cook, I never know when I might need an eighth-, fourth-, or third-teaspoon of rosemary for some exotic, five-ingredient, crockpot creation. I stood Piggy on his head in the dish drainer.

Genius puttered around, sweeping the kitchen floor in a manner acceptable only to seventeen-year-old guest-hosters. He had grabbed the broken-down, angled broom from the laundry room, after first announcing that he really didn't care if the floor was swept or not. Because, of course, our kitchen floor could be piled ankle deep with peanut shells like a dining room at Texas Roadhouse, but that darn three-inch pig should be spotless. He swept up a pile of departed dust bunnies large enough to make a toupee for Hick. Not over by the wastebasket, but out in the middle of the kitchen. "There's no dustpan. Can I just leave this here?"

After "discovering" two dustpans between the washer and the wall, Genius snatched the kitchen floor bald. He had a glass of water he wanted to pour out. "Hey! The sink is full of water! What am I supposed to do with this?"

"I'm done. Pull the plug and let it out."

"Noooo! I might get Piggy's flesh on my fingers!"

Piggy is back in his old kingdom-surveying spot now. A little worse for wear. I can't see throwing away a perfectly cute pig just because he lost some color. Did I mention that we might be hoarders?

7 comments:

  1. I'm loving imagining the dust bunny toupee and the pile of the dirt in the middle of the floor--"Can I just leave this here?" You're right, pigskin just isn't meant to be washed.

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  2. You can take nothing and turn it into something to laugh at. Dust bunny toupee. LOL

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  3. Geez, spray paint that pig!! My dust bunnies can beat yours any day! Remember that my dust bunnies have actual dog and cat hair creating a bond ... easier to make that toupee!

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  4. I heard this somewhere - not sure where. However, it sounds like it could have been Erma Bombeck or Maxine:

    There are no dust bunnies under my beds! But there sure are a lot of dust dinosaurs!

    I love this....Not only old but huge! Ha, ha, ha. Maybe my grandma told me this. That's even funnier.

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  5. Studies show that hoarding is usually brought on by ceramic pigs.

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  6. Perhaps that little pig is like Chucky (Chuckie?)...he looks innocent enough but in actuality, is an evil spirit, capable of causing mayhem in your home.

    Perhaps your family would turn into the Cleavers if the pig gets offed.

    Just thinkin'...

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  7. Leenie,
    I suppose that's why pigs don't take showers.

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    Linda,
    Oh, come on! Like the thought of making a toupee out of dust bunnies never occurred to someone as crafty as you.

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    Kathy,
    I see your dust bunnies as more weave than toupee. So it's not a fair fight.

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    knancy,
    The dust bunny conglomerate would have been bigger, had portions of it not clung to the synthetic broom straws and created a tail that wiggled and waggled with every sweep.

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    Stephen,
    You should get a gig psychoanalyzing hoarders on one of those hoarding shows.

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    Sioux,
    What? I don't want The Pony hiding his Brussels sprouts under a mound of mashed potatoes in a restaurant when we go to see a football game. Or getting stuck in a bowl of soup on a billboard. And Genius does not need friends like Eddie Haskel and Lumpy Rutherford.

    This little Piggy will not be going to market for butchering any time soon.

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