February’s Queen of Darkness
This is January. That means we have one month. One month of making sure Christmas is put away–one month of blissful ignorance in thinking we have cleaned house. Maybe not even a month. It is past the middle of January! Excuse me while I panic. Because regardless of who is in the White House, who is sitting in the chairs of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, or even who is building nuclear weapons, I know one thing. Come February, life will change. While lovers open their red, heart-shaped boxes of chocolates, while cards pop up, play music and encourage love, women everywhere will be frazzled messes throwing off their pajamas to Get. To. Work. In February, we hate everything. Don’t tell me you have no idea what I am talking about. Because when you get there, you will see it too.
Around here, even my husband, bless him, tries to help me with February. He takes down heavy lined curtains to run in the dryer to take the dust out. He helps turn rugs and moves mattresses to sweep underneath. See that disgusting cold air return? Marie Whatever-Her-Name-is would not bless this house in February. Not when it’s a mess that needs to be torn down and rebuilt from scratch.
In February, I will wonder why I chose this couch, what was I thinking that I liked that table!?! It’s all wrong! The colors are dingy, the bedspreads have been pulled up once too often, and that picture I loved yesterday is not working for me, now. P. Buckley Moss had an off day when she did that one!
In February, the back of the furnishings need dusting. I cannot sit and watch television while the dust and possible spider webs are back there behind that painted commode laughing at me. Why can my husband not hear the dust chiding us? Lucky, I guess, because I hear it. And those closets! Don’t even talk to me about the closets! It all needs to go. I should just back up the two cars and toss it all in. Off to the dump it would go, no second-hander would want it. I’m sure of that!
That is February. It teases with hopes of Christmas tree debris gone, with possibilities of cozy winter rest. Then, I am sitting on the couch with an HGTV extravaganza, new book on my lap, and it hits. Wham! Why is that wall green? Where did that horrible rug come from? Why is the woman on the television so happy with speckled black and white granite counter tops? They are wrong, you know. Get over it, lady. You need to replace those immediately, just like I need to replace mine.
No one better need a doctor. Forget the dentist exists. We have a house that needs changing and it’s going to need all hands on deck. You can hurt until March, surely. Right now, I want that lamp shade changed. Who in this house can read French!?! It’s probably one of those long, French insults.
I know that last year, Covid hit in March. But I think its impact was dulled because wives and mothers everywhere went, “Okay, that’s good. Let’s watch a movie,” and families everywhere, including my exhausted husband with his long list that was trying to keep up with the crazy woman on Independence Avenue, heaved a sigh of relief and welcomed March first like it was Mardi Gras. Families everywhere! Heed the warning! February is coming and that mild-mannered woman who shares your home is going to feel it. It will invade her bones and fill her sinews and there’s going to be some changes. But do not despair. Covid-19, new leaders in Washington, a strangely arranged Supreme Court or angels that walk among us will not change the inevitable. March will come. Peace will return. And the deranged Queen of Darkness will return to the woman you know and love.
It is the Inversion of February and I haven’t a clue why it happens. This year, I am going to fight it. Last year was a hard year, after all, and many changes were afoot.
Does that yellow throw pillow look faded to you?