Dust to dust (and dust and dust and dust)

They say Eskimos have 200 words for snow. Lately I’m feeling like there must be at least half as many occasions for dust. What would you add to this list?

DUST STORM: A dense, orbital-sander-propelled cloud that spreads from room to room, fogging the air, choking your lungs, and coating everything you own.

DUST DEVIL: What you call your significant other when he/she creates a dust storm and forgets to put a towel under the door to the attic—the place now-formerly known as the Clean Storage Area.

PIGPEN DUST: Dust that wafts off of the skin, hair, and clothes of dust-storm survivors.

DUST MOP: The matted muss that is your hair.

CHICKEN-LITTLE DUST: Ceiling-sanding dust. You really do feel like the sky is falling when dust mixes with the salty sweat of your brow and drips into your eyes.

DUST TO DUST: A dusty mess so unholy that it sends you into an existential crisis.

MOTHER DUSTER: The expletive you mutter to yourself beneath your mask as you clean up said unholy mess.

META DUSTING: When your cleaning rags, Swiffer pads, cleaning solutions, and vacuum cleaner are themselves so filthy that they, too, require a rigorous dusting.

DUSTIN’ OFFMAN: Your dazed, dust-covered alter ego whose brain is so fargone that all he can do is mutter, “No, no, definitely not. Definitely not clean.”

ABOMINABLE SNOW DUST: A dust pile so thick your shoes leave tracks in it.

DIASPORA DUST: Dust that clings to the soles of your shoes and migrates to every corner of the Earth, or at least the house.

SISYPHUS DUST: When emptying the shop-vac bag creates—you guessed it—a dusty mess (this one inspired by Kathy of The Sow’s Ear.)

DUST-COLORED GLASSES: When dust clings to your window and makes it seem as though your entire world is a powdery, post-apocalyptic mess.

DUST MIGHT: What enables you to rally and clean your house. For the five. Millionth. Time.

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