My House: Through A Guest's Eyes

Isn't it funny how, when you know someone's coming over, you look at your house totally differently?
Normally I can see past the muddy dog prints in the entryway or the dirty handprints on the door to the garage. I can ignore the slimy finger smears on the sliding glass door and the stack of movies atop the entertainment center. I can step around a pile of toys on the living room floor a hundred times without noticing it, but when someone's coming over, it looks like a mountain (Mount Everest, probably).
I'm having two friends and their kids over for dinner tonight and I'm just going to let it go. I'll spot clean the spit up stains off the wood floor (they're those splotches you don't notice happened until they're dried, and then, by the time you remember to clean them you're on your way to the laundry room with your arms full of laundry and you can't clean them because your arms are full and you think you'll come back to them but then you forget because when you're done with the laundry you remember the dishes are clean and ready to be put away and then the next time you see the spit up stains you're on your way downstairs to get the screaming baby).
Anyway, so I'm not going to freak out and scour the house before my friends come. They'll still like me, despite the stack of bills on the kitchen counter and the half-dead cactus in the dining room.
And I promise I will not make my friends uncomfortable by saying things like, "Don't mind the muddy dog swipes on the front door," or, "Oh sorry, I didn't find the time to wipe down the bathroom sink, which Big Boy used to wash off his dirty hands after he made a beautiful art project of the potting soil."
And I swear I will have a good time, and I won't even think about whether my friends are noticing the sticky apple juice spill (why didn't I notice that before they got here?) next to the bar stool in the kitchen.