day 3

Marya plugged the vacuum into an outlet in the living room and vacuumed up the rug, navigating the thing around furniture and her grandma's ancient standing lamp and Oscar, who couldn't hear it coming and was thus completely unafraid. She had to nudge him to get him to move. She wanted him to either leave the room or get on the couch - in any case to get out of her way - but he followed the vacuum around barking at it. Such a strange dog.

He followed her around the living room and dining room, followed her into her bedroom and then the spare bedroom, and followed her into the den, where he finally got bored and flopped down in front of Marya's grandpa's old armchair. Oscar was most definitely not allowed in the chair, but unlike not being allowed on the couch, he really did stay off the chair.

Vacuuming around furniture was kind of a pain in the butt, but Marya wasn't motivated enough to move the furniture any more than she had to. The couch was too big for her to move more than an end at a time, anyway. So she vacuumed around everything all over the house, put the vacuum away, and found a broom and dustpan to sweep the kitchen floor. She had to sweep before she mopped, otherwise she always ended up having to mop twice, and that was just a waste of time.

It was still raining, and mopping the kitchen floor seemed weirdly appropriate. While the kitchen floor dried she figured she'd dust, and when she was finished dusting, she'd take Oscar out for a walk. She expected it to still be raining, but she had a raincoat and decent boots and Oscar didn't care if he got wet, and she had the wet-weather dog towel to dry him and his feet off so he didn't get her freshly-mopped kitchen floor all dirty.

Marya paused in her domestic thinking to mentally smack herself upside the head for turning into June Cleaver. At least she wasn't vacuuming and mopping and dusting in a crinoline and high heels and pearls.

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total words: 13,847

day 3

Marya paused in her domestic thinking to mentally smack herself upside the head for turning into June Cleaver. At least she wasn't vacuuming and mopping and dusting in a crinoline and high heels and pearls.

She was instead vacuuming in jeans and a t-shirt with a sunglasses-wearing shark on it, and pink-and-white striped socks. It worked for her. She didn't even own a crinoline, anyway.

She found a plastic bucket and the mop, spent ten minutes failing to find the Pine Sol, and was about to give up when she discovered it in the bathroom under the sink. She couldn't remember putting it there, but she had it now, it didn't matter where it was. She poured some into the bucket, filled the bucket in the bathtub, dragged it into the kitchen, and mopped the floor. She was very careful not to mop herself into a corner, because if she was going to pre-emptively get annoyed at Oscar for tracking wet pawprints all over the floor, she should pay attention to make sure she didn't do the same thing. Oscar at least couldn't help it.

( When she was done in the kitchen she took the bucket and mop into the bathroom )

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total words: 15,936