The march of the dust bunnies: The adventure begins. Earnestly.

So. I admit it: I'd rather be sleeping. I prefer to leave it for others to enjoy the dawn. I do. The sunrise may be exquisite. It may be. But. Frankly, I find sleep more so. Sunsets are gorgeous and at a more attractive time. In my humble opinion.

But. Here I am. Awake. At the keyboard. So I will share this with you, my lovelies ? because you want to know, don't you? You simply cannot get through the day without this pertinent and endlessly fascinating knowledge, can you? ? what I have been doing. I have been decluttering. Yes. I have.  Not because of Oprah. Not because of Peter Walsh. No.

But because of this: If His Bertness gets a job in a place far, far, far away from sunny AZ, then I want the house to be looking its Sunday Best. Absolutely. It needs its blush, its lipstick, its pretty dotted swiss frock and straw hat if we put it on the market. I want it to have lots of suitors, beaucoup beaus and/or beausettes who will offer lots of money, lots, for our lovely abode. Because it is lovely. And it has breathtaking views.

So. I have been sorting through books. Can this one go to the Friends of the Library book sale? Or must I keep it? Will His Bertness part with it as well? If I pry it out of his hands, will he pry it out of mine. We will be strong. Together. 

Alas, all dust bunnies must go. They are now foes. Absolutely. And we have so many. They are so loyal. They cling to our books. They are very literate, these crazy rabbits. But out they must go. Out, out, out, like Lady Macbeth's spot. Be strong, Denise.  Be strong. Show those fuzzy rascals the Swiffer, the dustpan, the door!