Homebody

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Astrologically, I’m a Cancer. Among other things, we are purportedly homebodies. I couldn’t agree more – nowhere I’d rather be. I’ve blogged about the importance of home before, of surrounding yourself with things that comfort you and are meaningful to you.

This is a bit of a different spin. See, here’s the thing: I’m a slob.

Ask any grade school teacher I ever had. The girl with the perfectly brushed hair, pristine kneesocks both at her knees, books in a neat stack, copperplate handwriting? Well, see the kid behind HER, with her hairband around her neck, skinned knees, pudding on her shirt, desk looking like a squirrel’s nest? That’s me, frantically scribbling chicken-scratch ideas in a stained, dogeared notebook.

Ask my parents. Well, ask my Dad. My Mum’s not with us anymore, but here’s the thing – she’s not spinning in her grave concerning the state of my digs. No, I come from a long line of lousy housekeepers. You’ve heard me before refer to my Hobo Monkey Clubhouse. Sometimes it gets out of control. Not “call the health department” out of control, but not exactly Better Homes and Gardens, either. My bathroom scares me at times. There’s blue furry things in my fridge. There’s often a largish pile of dishes in the sink. The rugs get a bit crunchy. The sheets bear olfactory evidence of people having slept there. If you’re over, you might want to wear something cat-hair coloured. You cannot eat off my floors. It’s okay, really, I have plates. And perhaps you shouldn’t be at large if you like eating off the floor, dear.

Every once in a while, I can’t stand it anymore, and I do a big cleanup. For a few days, everything is sparkly. I walk into my home and go “Aaaah, so nice”. A dirty, messy house stresses me out, but housekeeping is usually the last thing I want to do with my precious time off. You DO want me to blog, don’t you? Also, there’s things to knit and books to read; naps to take and tea to drink. I’m a busy, busy girl. I can’t clean the bathroom, I’m busy comparing and contrasting the respective wits of Dorothy Parker and Fran Liebowitz. Earl Grey or Chai? Wool or alpaca? So many important things to decide.

But, every once in a while, I just can’t stand it anymore, and I push up my sleeves and do a biiiig cleanup. Today was one of those days. Looks great. Smells nice. Feels wonderful.

I had a major cleaning company in do to a quote on Thursday. Yikes! Expensive! Although I think I could probably get a self-employed entrepreneur to do the job much more reasonably, it was some good motivation to get off my shapely butt and do some work.

So, my career as a lady of leisure who occasionally has to have words with The Help is probably at an end.

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