I can tell I'm getting really comfortable in my own skin when my parents' arrival in town hasn't sent me into a cleaning frenzy. That's right. I'm embracing my inner slob. It's not like my dad didn't threaten my life growing up in order to get me to clean my room. For several months I had the wool pulled over his eyes by stuffing all the items on my floor into trash bags and hiding them in my closet. Unfortunately when he and my mother (pre-divorce) discovered all the bags, they dumped them back onto my floor and made me clean up all the mess.
These days the messes I deal with are on a whole new level. There is little boy pee in parts of the bathroom I didn't know existed, I can barely wash enough loads of laundry a day to keep everyone in clean underwear, and I get a Lego embedded in my foot at least twice a week. Very painful, by the way. Tonight I actually found a piece of pizza in my purse.
Right now my big dilemma lies in the decision to wash towels and washcloths (which we are completely out of) or our green shirts for the big St. Patty's Day Parade. Clearly we can't be the only lads and lassies wearing blue or black shirts in Downtown tomorrow, so the scales are tipped. I will either stay up late enough to wash towels, too, or I will drip dry in the morning. The outcome remains to be seen.
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