A not-so-relaxing bottle of root beer

It all began when a bottle of root beer rolled out of my refrigerator last Saturday noon.

My bologna (weak moment at the grocery store) sandwich with lettuce and Miracle Whip was ready, and my new bag of tasty sweet potato kettle chips was opened for lunch. For whatever reason, I picked the plastic bottle of Diet A&W off the floor and twisted off the cap.

That’s when it happened — the monsoon of syrupy, sticky, foamy liquid sprayed all over my hand, up my arm and across the kitchen floor.

Luckily I was within a foot or so of the kitchen sink, but the damage had been done.

That one little episode with a bottle of root beer cost me an entire weekend of New Year’s relaxation in my upstairs crafting room.

Yes, it truly did.

I was so organized, too, and felt even a bit more creative than usual. I had all of my special papers in one stash, my tape runners were filled and ready for use and the photos had all been printed weeks ago. The entire weekend was supposed to be devoted to reliving my Honor Flight IV memories.

What do they say about the best laid plans?

Now, with little to show for that so-called weekend of scrapbooking, I realize that perhaps I should spend the money and actually attend one of those scrapbooker’s get-aways like my sister-in-law treats herself to. Had I spilled a pop there, I’m sure I wouldn’t have felt compelled to go on a cleaning binge.

Anyway, I suppose I could have taken the easy way out and just wiped up the spill with a wet paper towel. Actually, I did attempt that — it didn’t work.

So, I stooped to the level my mom takes — scrubbing the floor on my hands and knees with a rag and a mixture of warm water and Pine-Sol. Since I was going to take such drastic measures, I figured I may as well scrub the whole floor.

And, since I was going to scrub the whole floor, it was probably time for the rag rugs to be shaken out and shoved in the washing machine. Heck, the bathroom rug could be thrown in too and, while that is being washed, I may as well get more use out of the cleaning solution and mop that floor as well.

How does one spilled bottle of pop lead to so much work?

By the end of the day, the rugs were dangling over stuff in the basement to dry, the kitchen and bathroom floors smelled of fresh pine, every single load of clothes was washed, dried and put away, the mattress was flipped, the closet and the dresser were cleaned out, the bed made, the bathroom sparkled as much as can be expected, I’d finished a book (I needed to take a couple of breaks) and a glass of chocolate wine was swirling in my tummy. The only things I didn’t accomplish were taking the Swiffer over the hardwoods, running the vacuum over the area rugs and dusting the furniture.

All week long a little voice in my head has been telling me to get those things done so I can enjoy a cleaning-free scrapbooking retreat this weekend. I may just try to hold out until that voice is a scream — or until I spill another bottle of root beer.

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