This evening, at approximately 5 p.m., a momentous event will take place in the life of Bungalow Babe.
HOBB (Husband of Bungalow Babe) and Big Babe, who have been traipsing through India for the past 12 days, will return to the bosom of their family. (To see what they have been doing in India, visit www.coveringreligion.org)
In their absence, this particular bosom has sagged. So much so that major reconstructive work is called for.
And while the mental recovery will take some time (experts estimate that twelve days in a sanatorium should just about do it. See the previous Bungalow Babe posting, Woman on the Verge), the physical effort will commence in about five minutes.
Starting in about five minutes, all evidence that the Urban Bungalow has been inhabited by a Woman on the Verge (plus a delighted Little Babe who had a “sleepover” in his mom’s room with Alfie the Pomeranian every single night and missed a total of FIVE school days during this 12 day period due to sickness AND a snow day last Friday. Thanks a whole lot, Hashem. You’re a real pal) will be obliterated as Bungalow Babe (together with her dedicated cleaning Lady, Lady [her real name]) springs into action.
Some of the reconstructive efforts entail:
*Tossing out the piles of newspaper which have accumulated around the apartment (largely unread) like so many Stonehenge monuments
*Putting away the piles of clothes that lie draped over the office chair in the bedroom, a testament to the fits of sartorial decision-itis that have only increased in the absence of the menfolk. These piles have migrated from the master bed, where they lay for at least four days, making a pleasant nest for Alfie the Pomeranian, until Little Babe complained that he didn’t like sleeping next to suits. Bungalow Babe actually got used to it
*Removing the challah-crumb-infested Shabbat tablecloth from the table, putting away the challah tray and washing the wine-stained kiddush cups
*Finding the various unread mail deposit sites around the apartment and gathering all the important looking stuff into one pile to place on the dining room table, now cleared of the Shabbat tablecloth
*Finding the missing New Yorker with the great cartoon of the writer on deadline plus the issue of the Forward that had an opera review written by Big Babe
*Washing the fleishig dishes in the sink; removing the clean milchig dishes from the dishwasher
*Throwing out the used fish pan that has lived on the fire escape for the last twelve days because it is truly disgusting now that it has been snowed and rained and hailed on. (But the spatula inside of it with the plastic yellow fish head can prob. be saved.)
*Finding the missing phone receiver (where the *&*^ is it????)
*Pouring the sour milk down the drain once the fleishig dishes are done
*Throwing out the empty bags of chips and boxes of crackers that populate the shelves. Somehow, it seemed like too much effort to discard these over the past twelve days
*Getting rid of the abundant evidence of takeout food
*Putting new toilet paper rolls on the toilet paper holders. Right now, they are resting on the bathroom floor, to be perfectly truthful. Bungalow Babe considers herself virtuous to have risked her life by climbing atop a kitchen counter yesterday and successfully retrieving the bag of new rolls by batting at it wildly with a broom until it came flying off the top of the kitchen shelves while Little Babe ducked for cover.
*Relocating the recycling material to the basement. As of this morning, there are enough empty Poland Spring bottles in the Urban Bungalow to make a homeless person rich
…and various and sundry other tasks that will remove the illusion that, in his absence, the Urban Bungalow has been inhabited by a grunge band .
Meanwhile, there are a whole host of tasks that Bungalow Babe will not even attempt, i.e. – replacing the light bulbs, digging the minivan out of its icy snow bank, replacing the steering wheel fluid, for starters. Bungalow Babe is hopeful that the mere sight of these tasks will ignite compassion in HOBB’s heart for her ordeal of having to run the Urban Bungalow in his absence.
Of course, the return of HOBB and Big Babe will also be celebrated by the requisite balloons and Welcome Back signs, provided that Bungalow Babe finishes the project she was supposed to do over the weekend but frankly blew off for the pleasure of going out with a friend to Makor on Saturday night, attending a Congressional Breakfast on Sunday morning and taking Little Babe to a production of Di Yam Gazlonim, the Yiddish version of The Pirates of Penzance on Sunday evening (visit www.jccmanhattan.org. It’s playing for two weeks only. See it! You’ll plotz!)
In other words, having a life.
It is now 9:15 am. The new workday and workweek has begun. Lady has arrived, thank God. Little Babe went to school, undeterred by illness or weather. Bungalow Babe’s professional Inbox is pinging, signaling the arrival of work-related e-mails. Alfie the Pomeranian is snoozing happily on the master bed, curled up next to the outfit that Bungalow Babe wore to yesterday morning’s Congressional breakfast and might likely recycle for today's 1 pm meeting.
Get those happy zzz’s in now, my little furry friend, because once HOBB returns home, the honeymoon is over.