Guest Confession by Kristina Neild: June Cleaver and Carol Brady would be aghast, but contrary to what my invited guests might presume is an immaculate abode, reality is, if you were to stop by unannounced you would get a much clearer picture of what my house ‘really’ looks like. (On second thought, Carol Brady’s opinion really doesn’t count; after all, she had good ol’ Alice at her beck and call.)
Mine is a home where occasionally, like something out of an old Clint Eastwood Western, dust bunnies tumbleweed across the ceramic and hardwood floors. If you were to step onto one of several area rugs you might find yourself hip-deep in enough cat hair to make a creepy (yet warm) fur coat.
Venture into the kitchen and you’ll probably encounter last night’s pots soaking in a sink full of cold, stagnant dishwater – you know the kind where orange blotches of hardened fat float aimlessly around as if lost at sea? (Did you know that baked-on lasagna residue requires at least two days of submergence? Seriously.) Ultimately, the aforementioned pots will sit idle and dirty until some brave soul gives in and reluctantly plunges their trembling hand into the murky depths to pull the plug and begin the cleaning process anew.
My family room is guaranteed to contain at least three pairs of dirty socks whose owners have removed and subsequently abandoned them under various pieces of furniture. They are stuffed in between couch cushions, thrown behind the television, kicked under the coffee table and once, surprisingly, craftily hidden behind a collection of Disney DVDs on the bookshelf. Locating a matching pair is kind of like hunting for eggs at Easter, only smellier and not quite as rewarding.
Let’s not forget what I affectionately refer to as ‘Mount Laundry’, a mammoth hill of clothes, bedding and towels that teeters precariously on the brink of collapse. Its bulging girth encroaches into the hallway, threatening to expose itself to unsuspecting passersby. To one day be able to conquer its tower of hampers is something I can only fathom is akin to scaling Everest.
As you can imagine, I am not one of those people who gives my family and friends a standing carte blanche invitation to ‘stop by any time you want’. I guess in a way I’m kind of like a convenience store…No shirt, no shoes, no phone call, no entry!
Kristy Neild: Kristy is a Canadian domestic goddess extraordinaire with three cats, two kids, one husband and zero desire to grow up. She is a former legal secretary and daycare worker (not at the same time) who has rediscovered her love of the written word and is currently working on her first novel. You can visit Kristy’s blog at: http://khaosbecomesher.blogspot.com/ or to follow Kristy on Twitter, go to: http://twitter.com/KristywithaK
I'm 
