The House Prepares

Feel free to read the prequels to this story at “In My House” and “My Dirty House”.

The day of the big date dawns and the brain rises at 6 a.m., as usual. The rest of the family have no idea why he wakes up at this time every day, but it is like clockwork. Lucky the heart and the body need only plod along, as the brain sees to immediate needs like the bathroom, washing, getting dressed, and coffee.

Eventually, they plop down on the desk chair and check in with the digital world. The brain sees to the checking of email, a somewhat tedious task as it is always mostly spam from sites where I bought something once. But the heart awakens, as I receive notices from the posts of bloggers I follow, and the heart dives head long into the beauty and art that is picture, painting, and written word. The heart loves to connect with the emotions evoked by all. The brain sees to our blog, and the heart connects with community through likes and comments. Both see to their tasks quietly, while the libido sleeps in.

The brain and heart now fully awake, the body holds pace as limbs and digits return to full duty status. Around 8 a.m., the family heads out for coffee at the diner. It’s social hour for us. Our current schedule allows us to meet and chat over coffee with old friends and new, as we watch the world spin up to another workday.

After a couple of hours of laughing, solving every global ill, and the retelling of stories most have heard before, it is time to head back to the house. In the anticipation of the date, the heart is excited to tell our friends about the hot encounter ahead. He smiles and beams at the mere thought. But the brain intercedes. He thinks it best to wait and see how this first date goes before involving others. He also likely wants to avoid the teasing that would follow such a pronouncement. Being so devoutly single for so long, and oft extolling its benefits to the chagrin of coupled friends, he knew they would have a bit of fun at our expense.

Home at 10 a.m. and our date is at 4 p.m. Only hours away now, the bickering begins again. The brain is struggling with the decision not to clean the day before. He is starting to worry that if, for some strange reason, she would come back to the house, he will have to work overtime to make excuses for why the place is the way it is. The brain gives in and decides the place needs a bit of cleaning. You know, first impressions and such. Nothing crazy, but a good straightening up. Maybe do the dishes in the sink, some light dusting, run the vacuum, and clean the bathroom. Just about everything a full-on cleaning would entail. But the brain feels better about this if he thinks of it as just straightening up. The body does not agree at all. It runs about completing the chores and hates the brain for his procrastination. The heart just smiles feeling good that she may like us more if the place is clean. The heart is so needy.

The beehive of activity and the pending hour stirs the libido. He stands back with that evil grin on his face. He seems to be getting his way. The brain has always been a little intimidated by the primordial strength of the libido, but this doesn’t seem to be that. May be the brain wanted her to come back to the house too, and just couldn’t admit it. The libido has seen that happen before. The brain thinks it is all rationale and reason, but it has some dark corners too. Whatever it was, the libido was happy to see the work getting done and decided to join in.

“What about making the bed,” suggested the libido.

The brain was in the rut of never making the bed. The childish excuse that we were just going to crawl back into it tonight, works well when you live alone, and nobody is ever going to be here to notice. But the libido still had its hopes up that she would see it tonight.

“I would be okay with doing the laundry,” countered the brain, knowing that agreeing to make the bed was definitively a sign he concurred with the evil plans of the libido.

“Fuck the laundry, we can stuff it in the closet!”, shouted the libido.

“Definitely fuck the laundry!”, seconded the body. “What the hell are you trying to do to me. I am tired already.”

“The only clothes I am worried about is hers being on the floor tonight,” said the libido with his lascivious tone.

“Okay, settle down, enough of that. We can make the bed, but that’s it.”, offered the brain.

The body is somewhat distracted during the conversation and makes the bed and sticks the laundry in the closet, as the libido had suggested. The latter being likely due to no interest in doing the laundry.

While the work gets done, the heart sits on the sideline. He agrees to anything he thinks will get her attention or get him more attention. He wants to make a good first impression and he wants her to like him back. He ponders why he has so little input in any of this. He knows that he is really the only one at risk here. If she bolts, the brain will rationalize everything away and be unharmed. The libido has been rejected so many times before, it hardly notices any more. It has always been a numbers game to him anyway. But the heart will feel the withdraw from even the smallest of feelings he has begun to feel again. He has become accustom to doing without this kind of attention, but now to feel it again, renews the addiction, the longing.

The body finishes the work. A little tired, but happy to see it through. The brain is pleased, as he loves order and cleanliness. The heart hopes it will all accomplish the good impression he wants us to make. Everybody relaxes for a moment. It is 1 p.m. and the date is hours away.

But the libido is never satisfied. Sure, he got his way with the cleaning, but there are other preparations he feels would be incumbent on achieving his lustful goals.

He calls out to the rest, “Hey guys, how about a little manscaping? It is like a jungle down here. There is nothing about this that is attractive. Don’t we want to feel and look our best for her?”

The heart immediately agrees. It wants everything to be the best for her. The brain wants to argue, but it too is a little put off by the lack of attention to appearance around the libido’s cave. The body is just done with all of them, still tired from cleaning, but has no choice.

The next hour consists of everyone yelling at the hands to be careful.

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