"I just CRASHED my van into JESUS!"

I had to include that for the Rapture people. I’m nothing if not on the bandwagon. When we moved out of my in law’s house and into our own, we were taking with us the hutch, table and chairs set J had inherited from his grandmother after she had passed, that his mother had been holding onto for him. They are about 40 years old, not particularly fancy, a set I would think to be common of that time. I was shopping with my MiL before the move, and she picked up a tablecloth and said, "Oh! This is what you need for the table!" I laughed,” Umm, I’m not a tablecloth kind of girl, thanks.” You should have seen her face. Like I had just suggested we go get G her tramp stamp tattoo right then because she was bound to get it anyway. I almost had to get some smelling salts. She recovered, we kind of chuckled and there was a subject change. It’s cute how I thought I had a say about the furniture in my own house right? Everyone was eating dinner at our house, and J had keys in his pocket or something, so when he sat down they scraped across the chair. He looked up and I’m positive I was seeing his 8 year old face when caught doing something wrong. He looked right at his mom who said, “Son, it’s not my chair, you have to take that up with your grandma.” Obviously I was mistaken about not being a table cloth kind of girl. Or at least in the thought that I had a choice in the matter. Not only do we us a GD tablecloth there’s also this white padding thing that goes under the cloth as well to protect the table even more. As I said before, this set is a good 40 years old. The chairs are falling apart, despite having been reglued repeatedly. There’s red nail polish on the leg, and scratches on the table. I get that it’s sentimental, but I’m concerned about the expectations for this set. It’s not going to last to be passed down to G. It’s just not. But this does not matter. G’s seat is the kind you hook onto the table. I like it because it doesn’t use a chair, it’s not a bulky high chair that takes up space, she is part of the family at the dinner table, and I can spin it around to position her however needed. So every week I’d unhook the chair and wash the tablecloth, then have to hook it back up once it was dry. I brushed the crumbs off throughout the week, but by Monday, it looked like ass. G’s messy, we’re messy, and it was gross. I was annoyed. If it was just the table I could wipe it off, SANITIZE it. But no, not an option. Arguments were had. Not heated ones, just eye rolling you’re being unreasonable ones. By both parties I’m sure. Then my BiL called to say he’d found a sheet of plastic he was sure was meant for my table. Plastic. Awesome. I procrastinated, and bitched some more. When that didn’t work I finally went to pick it up, washed it down, and put the effing plastic sheet on my table, over the white cushiony thing, and the tablecloth I didn’t want in the first place. This shit’s a miracle yo. I wash the table every night with a soapy sponge and it’s clean! I haven’t washed my tablecloth in a month and it still looks decent!! I get it. I get it old ladies who plastic up your whole houses. There’s nothing like being able to just….wipe it down! I might get some for my couches! Shit, I might wrap up my kid in it!! Cleanliness!!! Someday, I’ll have a kitchen floor that is not office carpet that was 57 cents a square foot and allowed me to move into my super awesome but not completely done house. Someday I’ll have an island surrounded by cork flooring. With cupboards, and stools and a countertop of some kind of rock I assume. That I will be able to wipe off. And tablecloths will once again be not in my vocabulary. But until then, I’m rocking my many layered plastic covered table that I can clean up every night.