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........................... Oct. 05 - Oct. 18, 2001
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Confessions of a Slob
This Ain't Martha Stewart's Kitchen |
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Sometimes I feel like I'm the only person in the world living in household chaos. I'm convinced everyone else is tidy. My dictionary bypasses the word "neatness." It goes straight from "nearsighted" to "neat's-foot oil." My ideal method for efficient cleaning is to tilt the house to a 45-degree angle, dumping everything into the street and starting over.
Paul, my fianc?, and I recently hit rock-bottom in home maintenance. We're not merely inexperienced at absolutely everything. We don't even have names for the most common items found in a home. One of our living-room windows recently developed a misalignment that left a tiny opening at the base. After several minutes of in-depth conversation, we determined that it had to be fixed. After frowning awhile and discussing repair options, our best solution was to carefully apply a three-inch-wide strip of black electrician's tape over the opening. The window reminded me of a kidnapping victim, but we were satisfied. We then noticed a water stain in the wall next to the window, but decided we'd done enough home repair for one day.
We recently decided to tame our savage dirty-clothes situation. I suggested a backyard bonfire. Paul, whose nickname is "No-job-is-worth-doing-unless-I-can-shop-for-something-first," grabbed his wallet and set out for the department store. He nobly returned with two tall, pristine white hampers. Now we could sort clothes as we changed, never to be disorganized again. The first two weeks were Hamper Heaven. We carefully, lovingly placed our dirty garments into the appropriate bins with great pride. By Day 15, however, the plan disintegrated. Our shrines to tidiness are now empty and have become lonely peaks deeply rooted in mountains of socks and underwear.
Neglect in the garden department has taken a surprising turn. My plants are happier without me. They're thriving. I think some that died are now living again. I'm afraid to go outside and start weeding. Now that they know I'm unnecessary, what will they do to me? Open revolt? Bloody coup? Best just to leave it. I'm not concocting excuses for avoiding yard work. No, really. On the contrary, I'm working with Nature by allowing it to remain a blissful mess.
My last quarter at school was stressful, so instead of getting fresh air, exercise, and plenty of sleep, I decided to buy another video game. My leisure time has been consumed with organizing the lives of little video people called "The Sims." I have to make sure they stay happy by feeding them, making them clean their house, and ensuring a fulfilling social life. My Sims are happy, productive, and successful. I find this amazingly absorbing and disturbingly ironic. Virtual humans have a better life than I do because I pay more attention to them than myself.
I have to go now. One of my Sims needs to use the restroom, and he won't flush unless I tell him to.
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| by Cindy Valleley | |
Paul impressed me the other day when he finally put foil on the stove burner spill-catcher thingee. Usually he's content to blaze away, cooking and boiling over until the smoke can be detected by weather satellites. He doesn't believe in replacing the crusty, blackened foil with fresh stuff, though. His philosophy is, "If I keep piling new foil onto the old, eventually the Kitchen-Cleaning Fairy" (also known as the Laundry-Washing/Vacuum-Pushing/Toilet-Scrubbing Fairy) "will take care of it." It did add an artistic flair to the stovetop. Rather than plain ol' flat foil, the burners had lovely little points sticking up everywhere. Once the old crust caught fire, the stovetop looked like a piece of art. I called it "Blazing Tulip Field."
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