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The Deluded Diva Speaks... Maybe its time to move on...

September 28, 2010

On Saturday morning, I dumped the contents of my dryer on my dining room table and began the weekly chore of folding clothes. I heard a knock at the back door and went to take a peak.
A young couple was standing there inspecting the peeling paint on my back door. I didn’t know them, but they looked so darn nice I opened the door anyway.
They gushed, “We’ve always wanted to see the inside of your house. Do you mind if we come look around?” Strange request, but maybe my home is more intriguing than I imagined.
“Well, I guess,” I mumbled. “Could you wait a moment?”
I raced to the dining room and tossed the clothes into the oven, and the mail in the dishwasher. I find those are the most logical locations in which to hide clutter when company shows up unannounced.
I bought a wonderful toaster oven which bakes, broils and thaws although I’m miffed it insists on burning the toast on one end (after all it is a TOASTER, right?). The big ole wall oven has been relegated to holidays, so that piece of real estate makes an excellent hidey hole.
Since I began entertaining with paper plates, the dishwasher is used about once a these two appliances are great location in which to conceal your housekeeping sins.
I returned to the door and welcomed the young couple who began trotting about my house like they owned it. They critiqued every little detail and I was beginning to wonder if they were city inspectors about to condemn my property.
They wandered into my home office and pointed up to my perfect heart-shaped water mark where my roof leaked last month.
“Hey, I treasure that,” I told them. How many people get a heart shaped water stain when it’s not even Valentine’s? (These people were beginning to get on my nerves.)
“So how much do you want for it?” asked the man.
“What are you talking about?” I quizzed them.
“There’s a “For Sale” sign in your front yard and we want to buy,” he said.
We all walked to the front yard and sure enough, there was a Prudential “For Sale” sign parked smack dab in the front yard.
Suddenly, I remembered that the Bulldog Bash street festival had been going on Friday evening and the pedestrian traffic was thick. Apparently, the natives became restless and someone planted the sign as a joke.
“Well, how much are you willing to pay for a house with a water stain clearly bestowed from God in perfect shape of a heart?,” I asked.
The sign is still in my yard. I’m just waiting to see if I get a better offer.

Emily Jones is a retired journalist who lives in Starkville. She edits a website for bouncing baby boomers facing retirement and welcomes comments at

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