717. Queen Virgo Moved Out

I walked into the kitchen at 4:30 this morning, searching for Girl Scout cookies.  I opened the refrigerator and gasped:  there was a gallon jug of milk blocking the orange juice carton, containers of (expired) yogurt cozying up to dried out peanut butter (label facing away), and wilty lettuce keeping company with grated cheese (bag not sealed properly) and the last vestiges of mayonnaise; lemons were not in the fruit drawer, nor even in a baggie; nothing was alphabetical, haphazardness reigned supreme.  It was obvious what had happened:  Queen Virgo moved out.

This had been a long time coming. 

When Tall was born, Queen Virgo spent hours and hours and hours pairing up teeny-tiny white baby socks and ironing onesies.  It was fun for the first week or so, but then Queen Virgo decided she had better things to do, like sleep. 

A few years later when Short was born, Queen Virgo still had a vision of order and cleanliness.  Unfortunately, Short, Tall, The Husband, and even the cat had other ideas.  The Husband liked to put his newspapers in the recycle bin without refolding them first (I know—it’s a wonder we’re still married).  Tall would track mud in the back door and then wipe up the floor with a wet towel without bothering to dry the floor afterwards.  When Short was a toddler, he put his dishes in the dishwasher facing the wrong way.  The cat wandered from room to room, never so much as offering to vacuum up the excessive fur she shed.  Queen Virgo was despondent.   

Oh, sure, when the family was at work or school, Queen Virgo would scramble around trying to make the house a palace again, or at least get the Legos off the dining room table.  She would make the beds (only to be slept in and messed up again mere hours later), wash dishes, put laundry away, Windex the bathroom mirror, all the while saying, “Would anyone notice if I moved to Honolulu?”

But last night must have been the final straw.  She had washed all the dinner pots, pans, dishes, and glasses, dried them, and put them away, when The Husband walked into the kitchen with his dirty ice-cream bowl.  He chirped, “Don’t forget this one, Sweetie!” 

Queen Virgo does not respond well to being told to do a task when she thought she was already done with said task.  Queen Virgo hurled the ice-cream bowl at his head. 

No, not really.  But she left, possibly for good. 

Fortunately, besides leaving behind a legacy of perfection, she also left behind a detailed map for where the extra Girl Scout cookies are hidden.  (Hint:  they’re behind the frozen corn out in the garage’s extra freezer, obviously Queen Virgo’s final attempt to adhere to alphabetical order even under duress.) 

I’d send her a thank you note, but she left no forwarding address. 

MOV