confessions of a dirty wife

This past week I found myself in a creative rut. No funny anecdotes were coming to mind. No hilarious stories were chomping at the proverbial bit, begging to be told. No charming quips or caustic barbs were on the tip of my tongue, waiting at the ready.

I was in a decidedly unfunny FUNK.

So I did what I have always done during such depressing times — laid in bed and played hours upon hours of video games.

But after a week of laying around doing nothing productive beyond amassing an overly self-indulgent number of ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED!s, I eventually decided that I needed to… you know. Clean up my disgusting house. Do some chores. Return phone calls that I’d been ignoring for days. As you do.

It turns out that doing this stuff was just the kick in the butt I needed. Because suddenly, as I was doing laundry and trying to de-gross my house, INSPIRATION STRUCK! And that inspiration was this: I would take pictures of the ridiculous shit in my house and show them to all of my loyal so-and-sos.

Great idea, right? RIGHT?!

Let’s begin!


Let’s start here with this humongous pile of clean laundry just hanging around IN THE MIDDLE OF MY LIVING ROOM. Why, you ask, is it hanging around in the middle of my living room? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s because I got tired, dropped the baskets, and deemed the situation “Eh. Good enough.”

For those of you who were thinking about blowing this picture up and looking for panties, don’t bother. My grannies are the size of bed sheets and are basically indistinguishable from any other laundry in these baskets.

In the living room, next to the piles of clean laundry that will take six weeks for me to fold and put away, we also have what I like to call The Dumbest Purchase I’ve Ever Made: the IRIS LEGO 3-Drawer Sorting System. For a mere $39.99 per three tiny drawers’ worth of almost no storage space, you can sort all of your LEGOs once… and then never again! (We have three of these useless shits.)

Oh, the careful and intricate organization of these LEGOs. Its beauty and composition almost makes one want to weep.

Moving into the kitchen, we come upon the following lovely tableau. I know, I know. You can barely tell it’s the kitchen, because the kitchen counter is covered with so much dirty CRAP you can’t even hardly see it. But trust me. It is the kitchen. We ostensibly prepare food here.

Because the kitchen counter is absolutely the best place for a brand-new shirt and some… garbage.

Still, I like the above picture because you can *almost* see the BEST and most AWESOME picture my son has ever drawn for me. Here it is in all its glory:

What? It’s a picture of Jack Skllnington. Don’t hate.

While I was touring the kitchen, I also noticed that the dishwasher was wide open. Yep, just wide open, with the top tray pulled out. At first I was confused, but then I remembered that I’d opened it about three hours before, intending to do the dishes. But then I was like: “Nope.” And walked away.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Okay. So. I first noticed this next phenomenon in the kitchen but as I moved throughout the house I saw that it was more than just an anomaly – it was a PATTERN. And that pattern? Is that NONE OF THE CLOCKS IN OUR HOUSE TELL THE RIGHT TIME.

clock7gif clock6gif clock4gif clock5gif clock3gif clock2gif


Hey. Hey guys. GUYS. I MADE THE BED, GUYS. This is how you do it, right? I mean, that’s where the blanket goes, right? On top of the pillows like that? And all the sheets and pillowcases should be different colors and patterns, right?

Look at those hospital corners. You could bounce a quarter off those sheets. (If the quarter was made of a Super Ball and you flung it on the bed at 900 miles per hour.)

See anything interesting in the above picture besides the perfectly made bed? No? Are you sure? You didn’t happen to see… THIS?

It’s an important question.

Our last stop is the best stop: the basement. Oh, the basement. Full of mementos and marvelous wonders, it never ceases to intrigue the mind and tickle the fancy. I know I could spend hours down there just combing through old memories if it weren’t for the fact that it smells like a MILDEWY PIECE OF SHIT.

Speaking of mementos:

“Ah yes, darling. Remember these… potty seats? They do indeed bring a tear of reminiscence to my eye.”

I also think it speaks volumes about my cooking habits that the roasting pan is a) in the basement, b) in its original box, c) hasn’t been used since Thanksgiving, and d) wasn’t used since the Thanksgiving before that.

I really do make a mean turkey. I just make ONE A YEAR AND THAT’S IT.

And finally, over in the corner near the whatever that thing is, a delightful memory of Christmases Past:

By the way, that dead fly and/or earwig was HUMONGOUS.

And that’s the end of our tour! Pictures that did not make it into this post include:

  1. A pair of my dirty underpants lying on the stairs;
  2. My husband’s limited edition Hellcat Records Fender guitar that he has played not even once (he never learned how);
  3.  A framed finger painting of my son’s with the somewhat disturbing title of “FINGER”;
  4.  The neatly stacked pile of gardening books sitting in the basement that I have never even cracked open; and
  5. The plungers in EVERY. SINGLE. BATHROOM. because our water pressure su~ucks. (Also we do big poops.)


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