My husband fetches me the morning paper.  I prepare a cup of iced coffee that I blended the night before.  I check the TV for the day’s weather - sunny and beautiful, the perfect day to tan.  Ah, retirement.

That’s when I spot an empty cat bowl.  And that’s when my notions of retirement end.

I sold my gift basket company recently through an ad headlined "Owner Retiring."  Sounded good when I wrote it, and it did bring a buyer.  

So today I am home, my first real day of retirement.  Today I shall enjoy myself.  Because after all, as the commercials would have us believe, I "deserve" it.

I open the drawer with the cat food and while spooning food into our feline queen’s dish, I notice her water dispenser needs filling and is a little dirty.  Oh well, a quick wipe and I’ll get on with my day.  As I set her newly cleaned water system in place, I notice her cat box.  Good grief, how can such a small cat make such mountains?  Oh well, a few moments and that will be done.  

As I clean out her box - Winnie is her name - I notice a fair number of kitty litter granules scattered about.  Oh well, a quick sweeping will take care of that.  But as I sweep, I notice the back wall is wearing...fur.   Hmm. Cleaning tools?  What will I need?  Paper towels?  Heck, these paper napkins will do just fine.  Some sort of chemical now.  Which one.  Lysol?  Mr. Clean? Windex?  I am now regretting my decision to tell the maids I didn’t need their services. I know, I’ll use some personal antibacterial wet wipes.  Yea, that will do the trick.

As I wipe a marriage of hair and dust from the wall, I make the mistake of moving the water cooler.  Oh dear, this hasn’t been done in awhile.  Okay, I’ll pull it all the way out.  What’s this?  A petrified raisin?  I didn’t know raisins could look like this.  I hope it’s a raisin.

Fine, I heave a sigh; I’ll move everything and wash the floor.  Shake the rugs.  Wipe the walls.  Which cleaner this time?  Found some old-fashioned Pine Sol.  Yippee. I recognize this one.

I begin to wipe.  Nearly there.  Oh heck, wipe the sides of the water cooler, just because.  I move the couch that’s sitting next to the water cooler.  Oh boy.  Not smart.  Maybe if I squint I won’t see the dirt.  Sigh again.  

That’s when I see the back of the couch.  Dirty.  And here’s another petrified raisin.  Ah, it’s been a long time since I didn’t have to go to work every morning.  

I go through my list of cleaning chemicals. Which one cleans a couch? Windex wipes?  Lysol spray?  No, that can’t be right...the couch is leather.  I know, Armor All.  I grab a bottle and peer at the label.  Please, please, let it say it cleans leather.  Ah ha.  I have guessed right.  Spray it on.  

Now I need something to wipe with.  Here’s a towel. That will do. Oh right, I used it to wipe up the floor. Ah, a little Pine Sol mixed with Armor All never hurt anybody...I hope.

I grab the cushions off the stool and throw them in the washing machine, then pull up the rest of the small rugs and shake them.  I sweep some more.  

I am beginning to realize I am hungry.  Fine, grab a bag of pre-cooked smokies out of the fridge.  Maybe I should take off my rubber gloves first before I handle them.  I could just dump a few out of the bag into a bowl and nuke them in the microwave.  Or better still, just grab a knife and fork and eat them right here standing at the kitchen counter.  Right out of the Ziplock bag.  Cold.  Now that’s the life. I look around my kitchen.  It is now thoroughly upended.  The product of a woman retired who was going to have a restful day.  

I dig into a sausage and then wonder about my iced coffee.  I find it somewhere in the rubble; it’s now tepid coffee. I suck it back greedily.  This is beginning to feel too much like being at the office.

I return to my scrubbing, moving items, sweeping and scrubbing.  What diabolical chain reaction have I set off?  This is not what I had planned for today. By now I am grabbing anything to use as a cleaning cloth.  My gloves are clammy with sweat and my eyes are stinging.  I’m into chemical warfare territory with all the handy household chemicals I’ve used.  

I look through the window and see the bright summer sun beckoning to me.  I continue to move things, sweep, and to scrub.  I grumble something about tanning.  And that’s when it happens - the epiphany.  

Somewhere deep in my mind a thought snuggled cozily in a cloud of gray matter lifts its tiny head. And I smile.

"If I don’t want to get up tomorrow morning, I don’t have to."

I start singing along with the golden oldie tune on the radio.