Just Another Joni Day

          By now you’ve all packed away your holiday decorations, and even adjusted to the new, barren appearance of your home minus the sparkle and merriment.  Right?  But why can’t I ever do this without a major mishap?

          This time it was when I washed the Christmas Rat off my kitchen window.  Every year we—okay, I—paint a wreath on there.  I chose it because I am not an artist and a circle seemed like an easy motif.  Then, one year, I decided to add a little mouse, and a tiny stocking hung on a sprig of pine, waiting for Santa to bring him a treat.

          Except one year I made the mouse a little too big and the kids squealed with delight, “It’s a Rat!  It’s a Christmas Rat!” and insisted on this tradition ever after.

          This year I chose the wrong day to paint my masterpiece—I mean my disasterpiece.  It was extremely cold, so I splashed on that paint as fast as Santa slips down those chimneys, and in five minutes headed back inside. But, in my haste, I forgot to add a bit of soap to the paint.  This meant that when January rolled around and it was time to wash the window, it wouldn’t budge.

          I sprayed a strong degreaser on it.  I scrubbed.  Nothing.  Finally I decided to use the nearby garden hose, and dialed the “jet” setting so it would be like a power washer.

          Except I forgot to back away.  Suddenly the surge of water ricocheted off the window and drenched me with green paint and degreaser. Head to toe.  I looked like the Hulk.  Only madder.

          My hair, my face, my clothes—all were covered with soapy green paint. Oh—and remember this is the dead of winter, so the hose water is almost freezing, but not quite.

          I screamed, of course, but then I discovered that my cell phone, which I had placed on a table outside, also got splashed and now it won’t work.

          Well, YouTubeMom to the rescue, right? I don’t make those videos for nothing, and I knew to bury the phone in dry rice.  But I also knew time was of the essence, so I drove across town to Sprint, where the guy blew a canister of air on it, and that did the trick.  (It did not ricochet onto him, or onto me, I might add.)

          And I’m pretty sure he went home that night and told everyone a green monster came into the store that day, with a phone she had probably dropped into a swampy lagoon.  Whatever. 

I also noticed that St. Bob had kindly removed the rest of the wreath from the window.  So I had been rescued twice.  Not bad for a day’s work.

You, too, can be a hero.  Just buy one of my books here, and I will be forever grateful.

          I