Well, okay, 30 minutes....
I spent the entire morning cleaning my basement. It has nasty school tile floors, unfinished sheetrock walls, lightbulbs that don't work as well as my "office," my husband's old "office" (and thus still holding all the "very important info that we wouldn't be albe to find if our lives depended upon it as well as a bunch of stuff that if he would jut look at would probably hit the trash can but he doesn't have to because he has a real office now") and my laundry room which holds its own assortment of stuff. But because I spend time here, so do my kids--and the crickets.
Anyway, today I got serious about cleaning it. Not just picking it up, but sweeping the cobwebs (containing cricket carcases) out of the corners.
I take one lousy phone call. One. And come back into the basement. What do I find?
Trashed. That's all it took them.
Why do I bother?