Where is my fantasy world?

Loose Ends Susan Nienow

When the sky is blue, and the laundry is done, I allow myself a few minutes to fantasize about a completely perfect day. The appliances are all working. My car has just been inspected and only needed windshield wiper blades.

The petunias are coming back after a fit of garden rage when I chopped them off about four inches above ground, and the redbud tree has new leaves on it after being forgotten all summer.

I can only imagine having company for dinner with an entirely clean house. I wouldn't have to say, "Sorry, you can't use another bathroom. You will have to wait in line at this one," because I only cleaned the guest bathroom.

We could say yes to a house tour instead of requiring a note from their doctors stating they are healthy enough to climb over six-foot stacks of storage bins. We could toss the dust masks we wear when we go upstairs - two rooms that used to be bedrooms but now are storage until our kids - uh - I don't know when we will be able to find those bedrooms.

I create an arrangement of mums, ferns, a few weeds - graceful, feathery weeds - and some purple plume-like flowers. For accent, I include several branches with leaves still on them. And the arrangement would look the same at the end of the evening. No wilted ferns, no shriveled leaves or droopy plumes with the mums standing up, alone, looking ridiculous. No wonder florists don't go into the woods to pick their arrangements.

In my fantasy, we sit down for dinner with our guests, and when I look up, there is no cobweb hanging from the ceiling to the chandelier and from there to the candlestick. There would be no bottle of toilet bowl cleaner left on the floor next to the toilet. After dinner, I don't sit on the couch and look across the room at the dust dinosaur on the floor in front of the fireplace.

We don't have a dog that nips a wallet out of one of the purses, or a cat that throws up a hairball at someone's feet. The dog wouldn't snatch a slice of ham off a platter on the dining room table, and the cat wouldn't stand on the platter deciding what to eat first.

Or if we are going out for dinner, I would put on a pair of pants that are too big. Both the top and bottom of the outfit I want to wear are clean at the same time. Once there, I would ask for carrot sticks instead of stuffed mushrooms and skip the cheesecake to order decaf coffee instead.

If we were going to a potluck, I'd carry the dish on my lap without spilling. When I enter the kitchen, I'd put the dish on the table without sliding the food on the floor.

It's a pretty good bet that my other half has a different fantasy list, though.