Come on-a my house my house, I'm gonna give you candy
Come on-a my house, my house, I'm gonna give a you
Apple a plum and apricot-a too eh
Come on-a my house, my house a come on
Come on-a my house, my house a come on
Come on-a my house, my house I'm gonna give a you
Figs and dates and grapes and cakes eh
Come on-a my house, my house a come on
Come on-a my house, my house a come on
Come on-a my house, my house, I'm gonna give you candy
Come on-a my house, my house, I'm gonna give you everything*
ican from Open Diary writes, in response to Other People's Houses, “Don't just “look” in. Come on in and help me clean my office. ;) ”
I had to laugh at that, because I'm only marginally willing to clean my OWN home. Don't get me wrong, I like neatness and cleanliness, I'm just more a fan of the end result than the process of getting there.
And yet, sometimes house-cleaning can be sort of cathartic. I do some great thinking, for example, when my hands are busy scrubbing pots, and sometimes I like the patterns left by vacuuming a rug. These mindless duties allow me to stretch my imagination.
It's the mental equivalent, I think, of sitting on the front stoop with a cold beer, enjoying a balmy summer evening, and waving at the neighbors.
*”Come On-A My House,” by William Saroyan and Ross Bagdasarian, as performed by Rosemary Clooney.