Skylar is coming home TOMORROW, which means I desperately need everyone to come over right now and clean this house. I won't take your excuses. You need to take some responsibility for how big of a slob I've become when unmonitored.

The laundry is stacked to the ceiling! Where did all of these clothes come from? Why did you change outfits so frequently? You guys really should be more thoughtful. Someone has to end up doing this laundry and it's not going to be me. You need to apologize to whoever ends up dealing with this.

Why will I not be the one doing the laundry? Because I'm too busy dealing with the mess someone made in the kitchen for four straight weeks! It really doesn't surprise me that there are dried sauces splattered all about when you consider the amount of canning that has happened in the last month. That reminds me—I'll need one of you to help me hide all of the canned goods I was told in no uncertain terms we didn't need.

"Why are you making MORE pickles!?"

I'm going to have that engraved on Skylar's tombstone if he dies before me. If he dies after me, I'll need one of you to do that. Sorry to keep adding to your list.

But while you're at it, will one of you please take his car in for an oil change by tomorrow? I may have vaguely promised to do that for him while he was away. It seemed like a small commitment at the time, the way most obligations feel when not imminent. This is why you should always commit people to helping you move several months in advance.

Speaking of moving things, who is going to get the garbage cans emptied? The yard waste bin is several hundred pounds because it has been filled and packed down so tightly that you could probably find diamonds in it at this point. Why is it so full, you ask? Well, I simply forgot to move the bin to the curb for 31 straight days. Skylar usually does that. How can I be expected to do my knitting and watch tv and can pickles AND have to move the bins to the curb? I'm not a quadruple threat! I'm not Barbara Streisand!

The bin is so heavy that when I tried to move it recently it fell back onto me and caused me to hit the ground. It took several minutes for me to free my legs. I still have bruises! So then I just heaved it back upright, returned the contents that had fallen out using a snow shovel, and went back to eating cheese and looking out the living room window, longingly.

I've been sad, ok?! Four weeks is a long time to have someone who I'm used to whistling and singing Dolly Parton's Nine To Five at the top of his lungs every morning gone and off galivanting in Oprah knows where doing Cher knows what! Surely you couldn't expect me to remember to do things like water the plants!

That reminds me. I need one of you to come over and replace all of the dead plants by tomorrow. I can't explain what happened there. At least, I can't explain it to Skylar because the look of disappointment might actually kill me. And I shouldn't have to die. Not for something as trivial as this and not right before the new season of Survivor starts.

So, go on. Circulate a sign-up sheet if you have to. Come in shifts. Call in sick to work if you must.

I don't care.

As long as you get all of the chores done by tomorrow evening.

I'll try to stall him as long as I can. I'll do that for you.

~It Just Gets Stranger