At my Hottest

Back at the Brigham, I had a professor tell us that people are most attractive right after they break up. Weird, right? He said that it did take a few days, but once your face wasn't all distorted and swollen from crying, your sudden availability makes you really interesting to everyone else. I don't really buy it, but it's a nice, comforting thought.
However, there may be a little truth to it, because lately I've been attracting my own special brand of admirers: namely, the ancient guys.
Oh, no, this isn't necessarily a dig at the 36-year-old guy my friends and I all call "Uncle," (though let's be honest, it is a little funny), but more a bit of commentary on how I manage to attract the truly old. On Saturday, I went to T's wedding reception. There were plenty of age-inappropriate men around-- mostly of the younger variety. There's the good-looking, not-my-type, friend of a friend who's perhaps 20. There's the brother of a friend who is 21. Heck, even T's little brother Q was super adorable for a high school boy. But who gave me the most (and creepiest) attention? A man I've known for years who is definitely in his 50s. Every time I see this guy, he's like, "Oh! Your hair is so beautiful! Call me Bry! You know, the temple is the most beautiful place on earth, but you've just managed to make it even more lovely!" and so on. I do take comfort knowing that he basically says these kinds of things to women everywhere (including my mom), but it is a little weird that less than a year ago, his 55-year-old best friend was also trying to put the hard-core moves on me. Darn it! If this reception had only been a week or so later, I probably wouldn't have the "I'm dumped, and I'm hot" vibe going on. The oldies can't resist me.
So let's see if I can carry on being hott for another week at least-- that would be ideal. My dear Nathan and Andrew fly in Friday night, and wouldn't it be nice for them to say, "Whoa! Who knew our Polish bestie was hott?" Ok, ok, I know that's not going to happen-- if there were ever two boys I'd marry at the drop of the hat without ever having had the least inappropriate thought about, it's these two. Hold on, let me think.... Nope. Can't go dirty with the thoughts! (Relax, I didn't really try, but I'm sure it'd be next to impossible!)
Anyway, if there is anything that will wear out the hottness, it's hard work, and I've got just short of a million things to do before they get here. Included in my Pre-Andrew and Nathan list:
* Clean garage (because there's no hiding it with me driving everywhere this weekend, and I just don't want them to say, "Why are there wood pellets all over your floor? Shouldn't they be in your stove? And hello, could you please take your recycling to the center instead of leaving it bagged in front of the door to your house?")
* Tubs (I doubt Aunt Susie left much of a ring around the bathtub, but you never know) and stock bathroom with supplies (no one wants to run out of toilet paper, and what if they forget their toothpaste?)
* Floors (self-explanatory)
* Install drape tie-backs in study (a project I've been planning on basically since I moved in nearly 2 years ago, but I'm afraid to use a drill on my beautiful, avocado-green walls)
* Fridge-- clean out and re-stock with stuff other than soy products
* Organize financial statements (these are in a neat pile in the closet of my study, but if Andrew needs to hang something up, I'd rather he not think I don't file things-- I do... just months' worth at a time)
* Finish craft projects (Again, this is so my craft closet doesn't look like an explosion of counted cross-stitch and crochet)
* Buy a birthday gift for Nathan's big 3-0
* Set menu
* Set agenda
* Clean out closet (just because I've been wanting to get that done anyway)
* Front and back porches
* Laundry
* Chlorinate water (because sometimes it smells like sulphur, and that's just unpleasant)
* Wash car
* Set wardrobe (remember, I'm trying to be "Hott Rachel"), and
* Manicure, pedicure, and rogue hair removal
And so, ok, maybe this is a little extreme, but I keep thinking of things I need and scenarios of what could go wrong. Why the winter pedicure, you ask? Well, if we wear out and the three of us end up chillin' on the couch with a Pauly Shore movie or two, what if my Sock Monkey slippers were to fall off. My feet are not disgusting, but people notice. Just ask Louise whose feet gross her out. On second thought, don't. They might just be yours.
I just want this to be a nice, fun weekend. I wish we could stretch it out a bit more, but I'm super grateful the boys are coming at all. And I'm glad they're hott without having recently broken up with anyone (that I know of-- it strikes me now that I know nothing about their respective social statuses). And I'm glad that they aren't in their 50s.