So, do we talk about mailbox appreciation, belatedly?

The joy of a long weekend, anticipatorily?

Or how, right now, before there’s a drop of joy to be had, I need to spring clean at least a dozen windows, in that process ruining my nails, inhaling an untold number of insect body parts and cursing, like, a lot?

The answer, unlike Bag Lady’s panes, is clearly all three.

LET’S GET RIGHT OUT OF THE WAY THAT I’M NOT SURE HOW WE HAVEN’T DIED OF BLACK MOLD.

Or black guck.

Because it abounds on the outside of Bag Lady’s windowsills, in that little space between window and screen. Are stiff winds depositing dirt there? Is it tiny fall leaf matter degraded to compost? Did every ladybug in the last five months mistake it as an ideal spot to overwinter before going legs up?

Step 1, that’s got to go. A pair of reusable latex gloves (Dollar Tree, $1), my favorite baby wipes (Up & Up, Target, $12.89/800 wipes, super strong and cloth-like) and a few hours of listening to “Wait Wait . . . Don’t Tell Me” podcasts, profuse swearing and all will be guck-free with the world.

Step 2, attacking the insides of the window trim/sash/channel thing* with Q-tips and bleach water.

* Hey, I’m no window scientist.

Step 3, Windex (Walmart, 23 ounces, $2.97).

Repeat. &$%#!@!

WHEN YOU THINK YOU’VE SEEN IT ALL

Three words: Murder House Flip.

Originally on Quibi and now streaming on the Roku Channel, Mr. Bag Lady just discovered this gem, where two designers go in to drastically redesign a former crime scene years after the fact.

The designers have really good taste, it’s such a bizarre premise and the current homeowners are so happy, like, “Yeah! We’re no longer showering in the same shower/tub insert where a man dismembered his wife!” Happy.

At least Bag Lady is not cleaning those windows.

AND WHILE WE’RE TIDYING.

Last week was National Mailbox Improvement Week, per the U.S. Postal Service, which asked mailbox owners to check to see if their boxes were secured tight, numbers visible and the right size for your current mail needs. (Read: Can your Amazon packages fit?)

There are fewer great thrills as a kid than getting a letter in the mail and the same goes for special occasion cards today. Had this fallen a week earlier or week later, Bag Lady would have waxed on about all sorts of decorative mailbox magnets, flags, ornamentation and shapes.

Shaped like fish = the best and I don’t even like fish. It’s so weird.

BUT WHILE WE’RE ON MAILBOXES.

Have you seen the new Maine 1820 stamp? It’s pretty, sort of a muted bucolic coastline in green, browns and blues from an Edward Hopper painting.

After ordering a few sets online (USPS, $11 for a sheet of 20), they arrived in an oversized cardboard mailer, official writing all over it, and I 100% thought I was being subpoenaed.

Legitimately unnerving. And yes, I had to look up how to spell subpoenaed.

PHEW! Can we rest now?

The windows are sparkling, mailbox clamped down, awaiting letters stamped, bug wings washed down with a cold Diet Moxie and no one’s been dismembered in the bathtub.

Let’s sit back, soak in three days off joy and listen to the sound of the guck softly reforming in the windows.

Bag Lady’s true identity is protected by a pair of stylish, sweater-wearing Doberman pinschers (who have never once cleaned up after themselves) and the customer service counter at the Sun Journal. You can reach her at baglady@sunjournal.com.

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Let’s go sit in the dark, under the stars. I’ll bring the Kit Kats.