Twas Brillig

So… I kinda missed yesterday’s Wijvenweek topic, which was about men. Besides being too crazy-busy yesterday to sit and stare at this computer screen, I also figured that I write enough ridiculous stories about men to last a lifetime. If you’re dying for those stories, you can go back through my Soap Opera Sunday posts.

Which brings us to today’s topic: my household.

A few years ago, my uncle was involved in a really nasty divorce: A beautiful 20-year-old woman named Yolanda, from the Dominican Republic, seduced him and convinced him to marry her. He was in his 60’s… Yeah, it’s a pretty messed up story. Anyway, after they were married and she had secured her American citizenship, she got pregnant. It was apparently too much for her to deal with, so she abandoned her aged husband and baby girl and left. So, they got divorced. Then, apparently her citizenship was in question, so she came back and seduced him again and he married her again. And then, what do you suppose she did? Well, she abandoned them again, causing turmoil, pain, chaos, and one screwed up little girl.

Basically, you have a story of a wicked woman and a stupid man.

I’ve mentioned to you before that I used to live with my evil and insane Gramma D. Gramma didn’t like anyone (especially me) except Brian and my dad. Everyone else was on her hate-list. So then one day Gramma D announced that she loved Yolanda.

(cue the screeching record sound in my head…)

You WHAT??? You love the woman who used your son and scarred him for life? thought I.

“Yes, I love Yolanda, because she always kept her home so clean that it sparkled.”

Yup… There you have it, folks. The measure of a person is not about love, kindness, human decency, but, rather, how well they clean their house.

Hahahahahahahahahaha.

No wonder the woman hated me.

Let’s just put it this way: I’m a crappy house cleaner. I’m a pack-rat with four children, at least two of whom are also pack-rats, and the other two just require lots of stuff and generate lots of mess. When I’m busy (which I ALWAYS am), my house chores are the first thing to go.

Basically, it is all mess, all the time.

(In fairness, though, this makes it sound like I never try, and that’s just not the case. I try to spend at least an hour every day cleaning. However, with the kind of mess that we’re capable of generating, an hour a day barely scratches the surface.)

The only exception to this is once every week or so when someone calls to say they’ll be coming over. Be it my family or Brian’s, or just friendly visitors, it is on that day that we clean like psychopaths. Why bother, really? I guess because I’m so big on keeping up appearances that I have to pretend to be this great housekeeper. So that insane people who see the world the way my Gramma D did will like me. Or something…

So… don’t tell anyone what I’ve just told you here: that I’m a total slob, and therefore a terrible human. It’ll be our little secret…