A couple times a year, Mrs. Snark's parents come to California to visit. Preparation for the event begins weeks in advance and makes the hoopla leading up to the Olympics look like a frivolous pursuit.
One day without warning, an expression of horrified realization passes over Mrs. Snark's face. "Holy crap, Mr. Snark! The house is a disaster! Grandma Snark will be here in less than two weeks! We need to get this place in order, ASAP! Everyone is going to pitch in!"
"You, put those power tools away!" Mrs. Snark glares at her husband and then her wrath moves onto three hapless Snark children. "Get to your rooms! I want everything off the floors! Dirty laundry in the hampers! Put your toys away!"
"What's a laundry hamper, mom?"
"It's that wicker basket in your room that you stack stuff on top of!"
"What am I supposed to do with the stuff on top of it then?"
"Hide it somewhere! Put it in your closet!"
"The last time I opened my closet, I got buried in an avalanche."
In the days that follow, a reign of terror falls upon the Snark household. Mrs. Snark's sense of humor vanishes. Surfaces that have accumulated months, sometimes years, of dust are wiped down. Floors are vacuumed and washed, and then vacuumed and washed again.
Grandma Snark, you see, is The Queen of Clean. The woman has a cleaning disorder, and maintains an absolutely immaculate household. She cleans because she is OCD and she cleans for fun. Cleaning is her full time job and when she comes to Mrs. Snark's house, she cleans.
When the big day finally arrives, the Snark house is a shining bastion of cleanliness, and Mrs. Snark's fingernails are gnawed upon numbs. Her final nerve is a frayed, sad, sorry little thing.
Mr. Snark regards his wife with a puzzled expression. "I don't know why you bother cleaning before she comes. She's just going to re-clean everything anyway."
"I know that! What's your point?"