Sorry About the Mess


Have you ever walked into someone’s home and it looks like the model home of a new neighborhood?  Everything is clean and pristine.  Floors are waxed, carpet vacuumed, counter tops (granite of course) so shiny they hurt your eyes and perfectly decorated all the way down to the beautiful glass vase they somehow are able to keep filled with fresh flowers or my all time favorite LEMONS at all times.  Then they look at you with an apologetic look and say, “I’m so sorry the house is such a mess.  You know, it’s just so hard to keep things clean with kids around”.

You have kids????  Where’s all their crap?  And while we’re at it, where’s all your crap????  Why aren’t there naked Barbies laying around all over the place like it’s the Playboy mansion?  Why isn’t there a pile of unopened mail stacked a mile high on your counter?  Where are the “important papers” you’re supposed to have signed and returned the next day that you got two weeks ago? Where is all of their artwork that you or they can’t bare to part with? Why don’t you have finger prints on every wall?  Where is the pile of shoes, jackets, clothes, crap sitting right inside the front door?  And where the hell are these Stepford children- locked away in the basement, the attic?  Where? Where? Where????

First of all, do not apologize for your house being “a mess” if it’s not.  I’m not going to do the white glove test, little Missy.  I don’t even own a pair- who do I look like, fucking Doris Day?  And you just make the rest of us regular folks feel like we should be on an episode of Hoarders.  Which, by the by, when you are feeling like your house is a mess, just switch on Hoarders, you’ll be feeling like the Queen of Clean in no time.  My other favorite “pick me up” tv show is My 600 Pound Life.  Man oh man, when do you decide that one hamburger is just not enough?  When do you decide that a dozen eggs is a serving for one person?  Even at my heaviest, that show will make me feel anorexic.

Speaking of My 600 Pound Life, I’ve been feeling like I am on that show lately.  I just had back surgery about 3 weeks ago and have been in excruciating pain for about 4 months beforehand.  So I spend a lot of time in the good ol’ Lazy Boy saying things like, “Sweetie, be dear and get mama somethin’ to eat” or “When’s dinner gonna be ready?” or “Sugar, mama could really use a 3rd bowl of ice cream.”  Alright, I’m a complete hypocrite, I do know when one serving is not enough.

But, my overeating and back problems are not what this post is about.  However, I could write the next great American novel on those two items alone.  (Note to self: write the next great American novel). (Note to self: you can barely keep up a blog- get over yourself).

Back to Ms Fancy Pant’s messy house.  I cannot imagine what it must be to like to be a child in a home like that.  I mean I believe in clean up after yourself, but c’mon woman, let loose a little, a few toys on the floor ain’t gonna kill ya.  Have a little spontaneity and say, “Yes, you can play with your friends without organizing your closet according to color and season before you leave the house”. You’ll save yourself thousands in the future on the therapy bills you’ll be paying for your entitled, annoying 30 year old child who is still living at home because he can’t hold a job without his mommy there to help him.

When someone walks in my house, I may or may not apologize for the mess- but there always is some kind of a mess. Because we live there and are people.  Crazy- I know!  And the great thing about kids is that you can always blame it on them!  Even in your car!  Oh, those french fries on the floor?? Oh, that’s just the kids, ya know- But, I never eat that kind of junk.  And neither do they, really (shaky fake smile)- it was just a treat… and only one time…you believe me right? right? …and they’ll never have it again and they’re going to be grounded as soon as I get home for leaving a few french fries on the floor of my car. We really aren’t THOSE kind of people.  Normally, they would have potato wedges tossed in rosemary and basil- they love it so much more than that disgusting McDonald’s,  because they have so much fun making them themselves!  Of course, we use organic potatoes we grow in the potato garden I have in my backyard next to the chickens. Oh- and you have not lived until you cook with the olive oil I make from fresh olives every day.  You know, if olive oil sits for more than one day it tastes like rat shit. And don’t even get me started with that poison they try to pass off as olive oil on grocery store shelves.  I heard it’s just oil they collect at Jiffy Lube, dye it yellow and bottle it.  Oh the evils big business does to the American people.  I just pity everyone I see that doesn’t know any better, poor stupid McDonald’s eating, grocery store olive oil using fools.  Bless their ignorant little hearts.

Whoa! I got way off topic there.  But, it all ties in to my frustration with the “I’m better than you” crowd.  As noted earlier, their houses are perfect, no gmos or preservatives will ever pass their lips (or so they say), the lawn is always perfectly manicured (and be sure that they don’t use pesticides rather they buy manure from a local farm, where the horses run free in meadows full of butterflies and sunshine, to use as fertilizer), the children are always in clean, expensive clothing without a hair out of place.  Some may say I suffer from an inferiority complex.  And those “some” are absolutely right.  I do suffer from an inferiority complex, because I have a condition called being human.

And Ms. Fancy Pants with the fresh lemons in her vase has the worst case of inferiority complex of anybody on the planet! So c’mon by my place.  I won’t judge you.  But, if you start judging me, well then, I’ll just make fun of you.  Because I’m immature and that’s how I deal. And when you leave, I’ll curl up in a ball and cry because you’re better than me.  See….it never ends.


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