pull yourself together woman!

When I woke up Sunday morning, there was a pig on my pillow with a very stern look on his face.  For all the charm Wilbur exudes, he’s also quite capable of getting his point across, and by the way he was staring me down, I knew he meant business.

Me: Good morning, Willy.

W: Don’t you good morning Willy me, Little Miss Blah.  It’s intervention time.  I know I’m a pig and all but this place is worse than a sty.  That thing in the closet with a long handle and bristles isn’t purely decorative.  It serves a function and that is to sweep dust bunnies, which, in case you haven’t noticed, are hanging out in every corner of this house and they’ve been inviting friends.

Me: Am I in the twilight zone?  Because it seems there’s a pig lecturing me on the virtues of cleanliness on a Sunday morning, before I’ve even had a chance to wipe the sleep from my eyes.

W: You better believe it.  I can’t live like this anymore.  There’s 3-day-old jam on the counter and a grimy ring in the bathtub.  What kind of place are you running here?   Un hotel para cucarachas? 

Me: This coming from an ungulate who rolls around in mud with glee.

W: You should know that pigs are generally clean animals and you’d roll around in mud too if you didn’t have sweat glands and needed to regulate your own body temperature.  Besides, we’re not talking about mud here, we are talking about the fact that even my hog cousins in the country would judge you for being so messy.

Me: Ah, come on Wil, it ain’t that bad.

W: Oh really!  Perhaps we should let your readers decide for themselves.  Readers.  Check it!

W: I’m quite aware of the irony of me standing under a web but I can assure you, I am not chillin’ with Charlotte here.  I am merely pointing out the laisser faire attitude that has taken over my roommate as of late.

Me: I saved you from the slaughterhouse, from the land of bacon and porkchops, and this is how you treat me?   No respect.

W: It’s my tough lovin’ technique. You and I both know that a cluttered space = a cluttered mind.  You’ll thank me later.

So that’s what I did, first thing Sunday morning.  I got out of bed and cleaned the place real good.  We’re talking about washing floors, cleaning out the fridge, re-organizing kitchen cupboards and bedroom drawers.  Le gros ménage, quoi.  I must admit that it not only feels good to have a clean apartment, it felt good to snap out of it, to take control of the reigns again.

After cleaning, I was all jazzed to tackle the good old to do list, but Wil and his gnomie had other plans for me.  They decided they wanted me to chauffeur them around the city.  They’d been cooped up long  enough and needed some fresh air.  It was, indeed, a gorgeous sunny Sunday and the camera was moaning and mumbling something about feeling rather useless and abandoned as of late.  So I packed up all the kids and headed to Mount Royal Park where I strolled around for hours.  Oh!  The fun we had.

W: Dude, what is she doing?  I’m freezing my little testes off here.
G: I hate to break it to you, but I don’t thing your particular model came with testicles.

P Positive and Jolly G going door to door, doing a little veggie bacon solicitation.

Always up to no good these two.  Monkey business, as usual.  The great thing about their size is they get to explore miniature worlds.  And I am a big fan of the small stuff so I follow along as far as my size permits then relish in the tales of their adventures.

Leave it to Wilbur and his gnomie to  pull me out of my funk.  Turns out, a pig, a gnome, a sunny day and a photo foray do wonders for this girl.

Let it be known that I have “live” friends with whom I spend much time having “real” conversations.  But sometimes, you need to step out of reality for awhile and saunter through the world of imagination where anything is possible.  Where you can carry a little plastic pig and his buddy in your pocket and convince yourself that you can hear them whispering to each other.  Sometimes, it’s that playfulness that awakens the creativity within.  The letting go of preconceived notions, of what people think of you when you are knee deep in mud taking photos of a toy pig.

And for the record… my apartment may be spotless but I left the cobweb by the window.   I left it… because who’s to say Charlotte doesn’t live there?