Women have often told tales of a magical substance known as “Dust”, that floats down from the air and covers all surfaces. Most men claim this is a myth, since they have never seen it. Other men claim that it is a substance only women can see, which seems to defy modern science and requires a very religious like faith that it does exist, and women can see it.

For my own part, I have always assumed that it was a deliberate lie. A simple excuse for women to wave feathers around and touch every object in the house on a regular basis. A reason to make their men folk re-arrange the furniture on a whim at every opportunity. Obviously some form of primitive item possession and self-esteem linking ritual whereby the woman fixes into her mind that her domicile contains these objects, which she owns or are in her custody, and they are therefore part of her personal wealth, power and position.
But I come before you today to say that I have seen the Dust. I now believe it exists. It appears to my eyes, that if left long enough (surely much longer than the time between typical ‘dusting’ rituals performed by women), it does indeed become visible to the naked eye. My own hutch, situated next to the garbage can and mere feet from the cat box, was coated to such a depth as to become gray in pallor, recognizable only in the underlying form. In moving the computer, such a wealth of dust was seen clogging the fan screen as to defy belief. The bottles of single malt on the shelf that had not been touched in months so obscured as to leave me believing, if only for a moment, that they had been rendered undrinkable.

It was with great care and a wet cloth that I removed these eldritch layers of dust, so that my own lungs would not become so heavy with it’s disturbance that I should collapse in my own mortality.

Not having a woman in my home, I shall have to perform this ‘dusting’ ritual myself going forward. Perhaps I should seek instruction in it’s frequency and method, so that I might be sufficient to the task.

May God save us from the dust.

Frequency - before someone comes over, if you think they’re the kind of person who notices dust.

Method - damp cloth probably is your best bet.

Yeah, that makes a better seal around their nose and mouth.

Sound like a lot of useless busywork to me.
Id get one of these. IF it bothered me that much that is.

Ah yes, the God of Entropy. He is to be much feared and worshiped on a regular basis. Dusting is only the start of the ritual, while one is dusting one must inspect everything closely. Flaws develop, screws unscrew, nuts and bolts fall off and food goes bad.

This is the natural state of things, we can fight all we want but resistance is futile.

Dust is mostly dead human skin-flakes. And full of microscopic house-dust mites who like to eat it.

Chimera, please, tell me how it was that the scales fell from your eyes and were able to actually see dust? Do you also now see dirt when it is on your floors?

Either way, please tell me how to teach The Engineer to see these things, so that when I return from a trip of more than a couple of days, I am not greeted with a house covered in hair, dust, dirt and dirty dishes!


Not returning helps with that.

Well, I own half the house and don’t want it to disappear under all that …

Ahhh. In that case, a screaming banshee fit worked pretty well for me.

If you ignore it, it is exactly the same as if it isn’t there.

Well no, if he doesn’t see it, then he thinks you’re simply demanding that he conduct the dusting ritual in your absence for no discernable reason.

According to Quentin Crisp: “After the third year, the dust doesn’t get any worse”.

Moved to MPSIMS.

He was wrong. There is an measurable difference between third-year dust and fifth-year dust, and I have seen it.

Yeah, but at that point it is dirt.

Oh, it becomes dirt somewhere around the year-and-a-half mark.

I know of one instance where only men can see the dust. When something sad happens in media that’s not a chick flick; like when the WWII general makes a fatalistic speech about their slim victory, or something bad happens to puppies, or Boromir dies, then the movie or book releases a cloud of dust that irritates the man’s eyes.

Same end result though, so no more need to scream. :stuck_out_tongue:

*Things fall apart /
It’s scientific.

– David Byrne*