It's true. Sad and ridiculous but yeah. True. I walked around with a sponge in my hand wiping down walls all day and I disinfected my bathrooms twice a week and there was no herd of dustbunnies under any bed or piece of furniture because a) I refused to have indoor pets because of the mess, and b) I actually moved my furniture around regularly and cleaned under it.
If you have been in my house lately you can be sure that I cleaned pretty thoroughly before you were allowed in, even though it still looks pretty ragged, er, lived in, here. Stuff piles up, piles get pushed aside, new piles take their place, and the oldest piles are eventually moved to the garage.
(Martha Stewart does NOT approve of my new system, but hell, that bitch doesn't live here.)
So a couple weeks ago, in a mad fit of competency, I sorted through a metric assload of outgrown kids' clothes and bagged them up, intending to consign or yardsale them. (hahahaha!!! Yeah right.)
Instead they got moved onto my sunporch because I tripped over one of the bags, got pissed, and that was the closest open door to toss them through.
Today Autumn wanted to earn some money so I asked her to (drumroll please) move the bags of clothes on the sunporch to the garage. She called me out shortly thereafter and asked me what had been pooping in the sunporch. and sure enough- poo. Mysterious animal poo.
It's official. I am the worst housekeeper ever. Something shits in my sunporch and do I even notice? No, I do not. I simply pile clothes on top of the poo and keep on rolling.
Fabulous.
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