It sounds like beatnik slang, or a euphemism better suited to a Misbehaving Tuesday post. Alas, like so many colorful descriptors, attic blowing is consigned to the parlance of home improvement contractors. Yesterday, when the insulation company rep called to confirm the appointment for this morning and told me, “We’ll be there at 8:00 to blow your attic,” I had a hard time not giggling. I’m so mature. (On a related note, it crossed my mind today that in the spring I will turn thirty-five, and therefore I have decided that thirty-five is the new sixteen, only thin and without a curfew. Not that I actually want to be sixteen again, god no. I think I just want to rebel and wear short skirts.)
So, finally, after two and half years, we got around to non-metaphorically, un-euphemistically blowing the attic. It was pretty cool:
The fluffmobile shows...
Into the house with a big old fluff hose...
Up it goes...
to the attic, where it blows.
