Troy and Quentin and I promptly . . . did not.
This evening I received a call from our general contractor who told me that he would be running a little late for his meeting at our house with my mom tonight. I had no idea he was coming over but told him okie-dokie. Then I called mom to tell her, she said great, and then she said that she would talk to me soon because she was about 15 minutes from home.
Enter Panic Mode.
I bolted down the stairs, screaming "TROY!" in a way that suggested two burglars had just jumped through my window with knives, rather than to tell him that mom was on her way. (You'll understand in a minute).
He jumps off the couch from watching "How I Met Your Mother" and demands to know what has me so upset.
"Mom has a meeting with Mr. Contractor tonight and she'll be home in fifteen minutes!"
Our eyes met with clear, frantic understanding. Troy sums it up perfectly.
We both bolt in opposite directions and start grabbing things that need to be put away and tripping over the dogs and cats who had come running at my shrieks. The next fifteen minutes were both amusing and full of panic, as anyone who has met my mother would understand. If you haven't met my mother, just let me tell you that if she told you to clean the house and gave you a whole day during which you had nothing going on, yet still didn't clean the house? You are a dead man. (Or you would wish to be a dead man after the yelling petered out).
Luckily, Troy and I both are masters in the art of "Hide-Crap-So-Nobody-Sees-What-Slobs-We-Really-Are-And-So-We-Don't-Get-In-Trouble" school of baloney-noodles.
The house was passably clean by the time Mom came home. I even decorated some more for Christmas.
(Yes. True Story. I am nearly 21 years old, yet I am scared of my mom coming home to a dirty house. At least my nearly-18 year-old brother joins me in that fear!)