I'm going shoot some honesty out there into the vast world of the web to be posted for all eternity, or at least until aliens invade Earth and destroy the Internet, therefore rendering man helpless and unable to evade alien attacks without the wondrous power of Google, because you know, without Google, mankind would not be able to read the 16, 500, 000 different webpages that refer to "how to kill an alien" (Seriously. There's that many. Google it.). Back to my honesty--I have problems. Big problems. I suppose it could be related to the genetic defect that causes me to play Facebook games instead of write whenever I have a paper due, or the problem could be connected to my tendency to start 33 projects at the same time, so it take years to finish things. Whatever the issue is, I have it.
Recently, I spring cleaned my laundry room and decided it was time to clean out THE HAMPER. You have a HAMPER, right? You know, that jammed packed clothes hamper full of unknown items, hand washables, things that couldn't be washed with the regular laundry, etc.? Maybe I'm the only one... My clothes HAMPER hadn't been touched in several years. The past few times I spring cleaned, I neglected to mess with it. After all, the disaster was hidden inside, and it looked nice and neat; why mess with what works?
When I dumped out the HAMPER to explore its contents, I discovered some mess and some treasure. I found a lovely, flowy pink skirt with silver sequins that I hadn't worn since 2007 that I absolutely love and had forgotten all about, several hand wash sweaters that since fashion has changed are now too short, a silky brown silk blouse that if it wasn't too small would be awesome, some unwanted bathroom rugs, two wrinkly white table clothes, Colter's entire collection of Halloween costumes, a dry-clean only suit that I'm sure I'll never wear again, and these...
Heavens to Betsy. Why do I have 152 nylon knee-high stockings and 23 pairs of pantyhose? OH, brother. Apparently, back in the day when I worked out of the home and wore skirts occasionally, instead of ever washing my hand wash-only foot apparel, I bought new ones. I think I was born to have a maid. Or at least a laundry woman.
After making this discovery, I decided to throw out conventional rules and threw all the pantyhose in the washing machine, and you know what? It all survived! Now, I have a lifetime supply of pantyhose and an empty clothes hamper. Well, except for that dry clean only suit that I threw back in. Shhh...don't tell anyone.
We've had paw prints on our glass door for months. MONTHS, I tell you! I don't know how many times we've had company, and I have neglected to clean the window. I've just left it as a sign for all who enter our home, a big, muddy confession, "YES, I am a slob. A slob with cats." It's time to let go of the paw prints. I attacked them with Windex and paper towels and cleared the window of any evidence of a cat trying to convince its owners to let it in. The cleaning process took all of thirty seconds, so I'm really not sure why I've left the prints on the door for so long. Perhaps out of affection for the cats? Perhaps I'm lazy? Perhaps the two-year-old's fingerprints on the other side of the glass kept me from noticing the muddy paw prints? Whatever the reason the prints that tattooed my glass door for so long are gone now, and the glass is all sparkly clean.
