Well, I can't linger long. Company's coming. Supercop and his girlfriend are coming over for dinner, which means I need to clean. And you know how I hate to clean. It's time to tackle the stuff I've been avoiding for days: the inside of the microwave (did someone blow up a gerbil in there?), the ceiling fan in the kitchen, the front of the kitchen cabinets (who spilled the grape juice and didn't clean it up?) and the dust bunnies under the sofa. Geez. I hate this. I'd rather be eating bon bons and polishing my toenails than cleaning house. Actually, I'd rather take a beating than clean house. Oh, well. It's for a good reason, and I needed something to motivate me to do it. If it were just Supercop coming I'd blow it off and not worry about it. However, we've not met the new girlfriend, and I'd hate for her to think that I never dust under the sofa, or that my microwave always looks like something blew up in it or that I don't wipe off my cabinets but once a year. People make judgements about you when they get their first look at your house. I could be in trouble if she looks closely. Maybe I can distract her with pie.