Friday, May 11, 2012

Sweeper

I need a sweeper.

You know, a guy who comes in after I've died but before my kids start rifling through my shit. A guy to come in and get rid of all my skeletons.

"You don't have any skeletons," Sean says.

But I do. I have a drawer full of ratty underwear, including a pair of vintage Spanx with a large hole in one leg. I'm too cheap to buy another pair, and occasionally I need a little extra support.

"Those are so gross, I can't believe you wear them," Sean says.

Who sees them? I ask. I even put them on in the closet. If you've ever wedged yourself into a pair, or watched someone do it, you understand why.

My sweeper may also be required to come in cut the Spanx off my dead body. This narrows the candidates down significantly.

"I'd do it. I'd be your sweeper," Sean says.

Yeah, but what if he's already dead? Or out of town? Or playing golf? I need a backup sweeper.

I'll need the sweeper to take care of a few other items. The large tub of powdered Coffeemate Creamer, for instance, should be replaced with a crystal pitcher of heavy cream. Organic, of course. My cassette tape of Paula Abdul's Forever Your Girl should be donated to a desperate 14 year old girl, who longs to be a Solid Gold Dancer (she will teach you everything you need to know, my friend! Let the rhythm move you!). The small Moleskine notebook in the center console of my car should be burned. It includes detailed notes on possums, which makes me look creepy as fuck.

"Spanx, powdered creamer and Paula Abdul? Are you serious?" Sean says. "Those are your skeletons?"

I know, it's mortifying. Maybe I'll buy a new pair of Spanx, but I'll die before I give up my Coffeemate.

11 comments:

  1. I've got an agreement with my husband that he is to burn every single journal I've ever written -- un-read. Everyone knows you only write in those things when you're pissed off and sad; but you can bet they'd only notice how crappy I thought things were, not that there are gaps of months, or even years, between entries.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. This is why I mostly lie about everything.

      Delete
  2. ooooh, I totally need a sweeper. I never knew what the term was, but now that I know, I need one.

    My sweeper will dispose of the secret stash of M&M wrappers in the glove compartment, along with Queen Virgo's impressive collection of trays kept in the dining room cabinet and also in the basement storage room (17 by last count-- who needs 17 trays, I ask you?). Queen Virgo is not proud of the fact that she reads pop literature (some might call it "smut"), and really would rather no one knows about her insatiable addiction to cheap drugstore lipstick (keep the Chanel fantasy alive).

    Please send your sweeper over here when he is done at your house (there might be a dollar bill or two mixed in with the M&M wrappers, you never know).

    xxo
    MOV

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I wear a cover girl lip gloss or burt's bees. I am not ashamed! I am with you on the trays, though.

      Delete
  3. Did you know Coffeemate is highly flammable? They could use your economy sized tub of it to light your funeral pyre when you go. It burns green and blue.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I know what I'm doing this weekend!

      Delete
  4. My skeletons have skeletons and they may or may not include half eaten jars of Nutella.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I can't keep Nutella in the pantry. Have you tried biscoff spread?

      Delete
  5. Everyone close to me should know I have porn and sex aides. I just need a sweeper if I die while using them... It would be entirely embarrassing to be found dead in the shower with a something like that.

    ReplyDelete
  6. I'm thinking I gave you the Paula Abdul CD for your bday one year. It's the least I could do to come and sweep that for you :)

    ReplyDelete