Friday, August 31, 2007

Here's Why I'm an Idiot

It's 6:30pm, and I've just finished dinner. The phone rings. I answer it and chat:
. . .

Friend: O.k., yeah, let's get together tomorrow night. Do you want us to come over or do you want to come over?

Me: Why don't you guys come over?

Friend: That sounds great.

I hang up the phone and see my husband looking at me in horror.

Him: Did you just invite them over tomorrow night?

Me: Yeah. Why?

He looks around the house - which is insanely messy and quite dirty. And then points down to the basement, which is a shambles because we are in the midst of one of my periodic reorganization frenzies (I just know that if I set things up in the perfectly right way, not only will I not hate our shitty hand-me-down basement furniture, but everything will look like Martha Stewart did it, and it will all be clean and tidy and labeled with calligraphic notes) and there is stuff literally everywhere. You have to have a sherpa to get to the laundry room (which, why bother, since the dryer is broken and we can't afford to fix it or replace it) or the pantry.

So, we've been cleaning for about 2 hours straight, and I AM TIRED and cranky and what's the point of having friends, anyway, if they make you this tired?


  1. You realize, of course, that the only cure for it is to move.

  2. Oh, Kathy, I am DREADING/LOOKING FORWARD TO that day.

    The sweet, sweet release of getting rid of everything that I own.

    I'd have no furniture if I didn't get all achey from sitting on the floor.


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