Blame it on the Y
Our house is a sty. Of the pig variety.
I have only myself to blame – after all, it’s my job to keep it clean since I don’t have a Real Job. But there’s something about cleaning that makes it hard for me to focus. I’ll start out strong, maybe cleaning toilets. Suddenly a bird chirps outside and I end up with Alzheimer’s disease. I wander off aimlessly with no clue what’s going on, only to come to my senses in front of the television some time later with no memories of what has happened. I’m just lucky that so far I always stay in the house!
This week was our biweekly maids visit. Of course that required a Serious Cleaning Day…you know the one, where you clean the house so the cleaning people won’t discover the filth in which you live for the other 13 days?
Anyway, I was carrying some clothes upstairs to dump them on the floor hang them in my closet, and I took my shoes with me. Because I’m all about efficiency, you know…why make two trips? When I got to our room, I dropped my shoes in the middle of the room…despite being on my way to the closet! It was okay, though, because they landed in a nice soft pile of dirty socks that I’d left there earlier in the day on my way down to the laundry room.
The great part was that as I stepped back over the shoes and socks to head back downstairs I thought, “Wow, that was really dumb to leave those there.” And yet there they stayed.
None of this is my fault, though. I have a Y chromosome, you see…
Oh CRAP, you mean I’m a guy, and I didn’t have to be the pregnant one or the one to breastfeed all of this time? I wish someone had told me earlier. I mean, I clean the same way (and by “clean” I mean “don’t clean”), so it just follows…