Mad like my mother.

Hey mom,

I think besides our good looks (yes, I know, you're prettier), I've also inherited your *drum rolls* Cleaning Disorder (CD).

I thought the problem was with the OTHER people. You know, like when you got pissed at everyone in the house for making a mess (literally).

How we'd leave our things around, or not throw away nail clippings and tissue paper.

How we argue and protest that bathroom walls don't need to be scrubbed cause we don't bathe on them.

How we put off washing dishes because washing them later is not the end of the world.

How we explain that we don't need to sweep the floor because the windows are closed therefore no dust/bacteria/etc could possibly fly in.

It's not them, is it? It's US.

We're M.A.D. NOTHING has to be THAT clean. Right? And for us to throw a hissy fit when things don't go our way, damn. We're down right bitches.

After all, nobody dies from filth. The worst case scenario would only be asthma.

And as God's punishment for not understanding you better, He has created me in your image so that wherever I go I see dust on all floors, scum on all walls, grease on all pans and mushrooms in my bowl.



Your hobo daughter,
Me.


P/S Boss, help me change the things I cannot accept, and accept the things I cannot change. Please. Thank you.