My house was starting to look like something out of Hoarders. Spring and summer were so beautiful that when I wasn’t at work, I was usually out somewhere, at the beach, the lake or an ethnic festival.
Since I don’t have central air in my house, any physical effort expended in cleaning usually meant I’d break out in a profuse sweat. It was simply too uncomfortable and enervating to be doing unpleasant chores.
I did my house work in bits and pieces, usually when someone complained (my husband or my daughter,) who, fortunately, helped out. The cat did his share of kvetching when his box reeked of ammonia and overflowed with several days worth of droppings. His way of telling me to change it was quite subtle, he sat in front of the bathroom and gave me dirty looks until I brought out the bag of Price Rite kitty litter.
If the dishes piled up to epic proportions in the sink, I filled the dishwasher. If the rugs filled up with beach sand and cat hair, I vacummed. I didn’t do much more than that.
Then the weather got chilly and it was time for the dreaded Fall Cleaning.
My husband, the drill sergeant, had Marty and me dusting, emptying out closets, putting stuff in boxes to run over to Goodwill, wiping counters and scrubbing toilets. Not a fun way to spend a Sunday.
While rearranging my daughter’s room, my husband found something from the distant past, a Furby.
Back in the 90’s Furbys were a big fad, and you couldn’t get one for love or money. All the kids wanted this expensive electronic gadget that talked, sang, and otherwise annoyed people. Why anyone wanted this inanimate object that talked was beyond me. And even worse, these Furby things could communicate with each other!
Back in the day they were fetching quite a bit of money on E-bay, especially during the height of their popularity during the Christmas season of 1998. This $35 annoying bit of electronics covered in fake fur fetched up to $500 on internet auction sites.
Somehow we were able to get one for $40 at a department store, several weeks after after Christmas, and gave it to my daughter as a Valentine’s day present. She lost interest in it shortly after we adopted Fatso, our 24 pound monster feline.
So Furby was consigned to the closet for a number of years, until we did our recent fall cleaning. Then we found him, hidden in the back, behind some old toys. A blast from our past.
My husband, for the hell of it, put some batteries in Furby, to see if he could wake him up. The first words out of his electronic mouth were ” oop do do ide dance.” Then Furby laughed.
My family wondered if I had been teaching him Bulgarian on the sly. Maybe Furby had heard the folk music that I played when I was alone in the house, and subconsciously picked it up on it during his long imprisonment in the closet.
My daughter decided to start a conversation with this inanimate object, who decided he had had enough for the day. After 10 repetitions of “Hello, Furby, how are you,” she gave up. I asked her why she was trying to hold a conversation with a vintage electronic toy.
After Furby jabbered for a minute or two, he closed his eyes and began to snore. I guess he was worn out. Who wouldn’t be after being resurrected from a twelve year coma?
Marty got frustrated with Furby after a while, and decided to rearrange her room instead. She’s contemplating selling him on E-bay.