“My doctor says that I have a malformed public duty gland and a natural deficiency in moral fiber and that I that I am therefore excused from saving Universes.”
That was one of The Equuschick’s favourite quotes from “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.”
This is a little something The Equuschick wrote about a year ago, and she feels that she needs a reminder.
Not to put too fine a point on it, The Equuschick’s family does not consist of the most punctual individuals. They are of the class of people who are always given the time of things half an hour early, to make sure they’re not half an hour late. (They’re still half an hour late. But hey, they can’t blame people for trying.) When HG and Equuschick were small, HM would do his best to keep his family ahead of time by the tried, and supposedly true,Planning Ahead method. HG and Equuschick were required, on Saturday nights, to lay out all of our clothes for Sunday morning, try them on, check for runs in the tights, and show them to DHM to make sure they matched. This practice, useful as it was, gradually died out as HG and Equuschick grew into their teens, and they have now been emancipated from the mandatory Planning Ahead. Equuschick has still tried, nonetheless, to do a bit of Planning Ahead on her own. Lately though, even that good intention has failed her. She finds herself up past midnight on Saturday nights, and awake late on Sunday mornings, running around like a chicken with her head cut off trying to find shoes, dress, purse, Bible, to feed and let out the horses, etc., all in the half hour before they drive away. But this Sunday morning an odd thing occurred. The morning, and the night preceding it, started out predictably. The Equuschick was up much later Saturday night than she intended, and the idea that she might quickly glance in her closet to make sure there was something decent available for the morning was discarded on the “I’ll be sorry in the morning but I’m too tired now” line. So far, so good. She went to bed and found that her alarm clock was missing, and dismissed the idea of looking for it on the grounds that “I’d most likely be sorry for that too, but HM will wake me up.” He did. Half an hour late. Yep, it was going to be another horrible morning. The Equuschick jumped up, ran to feed the horses, came in to start getting dressed. It was at that point that things got strange. For one thing, she found a decent outfit the minute she looked at her clothes. It didn’t even need ironing. She blinked, did a double take, and then went to find tights. For a moment it looked like things were getting back to normal when she discoverd two pairs with runs in them, so she went hunting in the “sock basket”, an essential house-keeping item for the well-disorganized family of 9. (It is, briefly, the Sock Single club. You put a lonely sock in the basket and hope that its found a mate by morning.) All went well for a few minutes as she hunted furiously, but then she discovered a good pair well before she felt like the search had even started. So she went back to her room, and there things really started going nuts. She found her shoes. She found them immediately, both of them, and they were on the SHOE STAND, of all places. It was quite a shock. She slipped into her suit, tights, and her shoes, and went off to do her hair. She was panicking at this point. It was as she sat on her bed and dressed The Cherub, trying to assimilate the information that the van didn’t have to leave for 20 minutes and she was completely ready, that she started asking why. What had happened this morning that hadn’t happened every other Sunday morning? And then, as she looked around her room, it hit her like a two by four. Her bedroom was clean.
The unlimited potential of a clean bedroom blows The Equuschick’s mind away.
Imagine the possibilities.