Apologies to Mrs. D

I remember when I was in my early 20s and I met my dear friend Emma for the first time. It was St. Patrick's day and she had just started dating a guy named Kevin D (last name withheld to protect his privacy and to keep his lawyer-self from suing me). Kevin and Emma would later marry and have two beautiful children. But before there was marriage and babies, there was plenty of time spent discussing this new relationship with Emma. Tales of dates, "disagreements", and delight. As it goes with any relationship, once it started getting serious Emma went to meet Kevin's parents. I can only recall two bits of information regarding Kevin's parents:

1. They are from Boston (or the greater Boston area)
2. Kevin's mother washes her walls. As in the walls of her house.

Because we knew everything when we were 25 and clearly had our lives sparkly clean and organized, we scoffed at what was clearly some sort of obsessive compulsive disorder. We taunted Emma with warnings that she better get her walls clean every time there was news of Kevin's family coming to visit.

Imagine my dismay when I was just sitting here on my couch, working from home on this wintery day, and looked up and saw this:

Not the greatest picture, but in real life you can clearly see a hand print in the dust that has somehow accumulated on our walls, once again proving that with age comes wisdom. Looks like my only option is to follow the ways of Mrs. D and clean these walls. Or turn off that lamp.