Secret Slob

So here's the thing - I'm a bit of a neat freak. I get it from my mother.

I can remember waking up to the sound of the vacuum on Saturday mornings, the coffee table being dusted with my blanket, and putting a half-empty glass down, walking away, and coming back to no glass because it had already been washed, dried and put away.

My mother was serious about her cleanliness. Dust was the enemy, to be annihilated at any cost. Clutter was sacrilege. Beds were to be made every morning, drawers neat, closets organized. Everything had its place.

I inherited most of this.

I say most because I like things to be clean. I have glass-topped tables that I Windex every day. There is never a dirty dish to be found in my kitchen. I am borderline obsessive about the carpet - it's been steam cleaned twice in the 18 months that we've lived here. Tim gets the look of a guilty 4 year old if he spills something on the carpet, and the cats have been trained to yak on the tile. Towels and clothes on the bathroom or bedroom floors? No sirree. Open shower curtain? You might as well stab me in the eye with a fork. Tim's most used phrase is "Baby, where did you put my..." because while everything has its place, I often change my mind about what that place should be.

Here's where the most comes in:

I don't make my bed every day. It's an argument from childhood that I still see the merit in as an adult: Why bother, when I am just going to get back in it in a few hours? I do make the bed occasionally - every Saturday when I change the sheets, and whenever we have company so the bedroom looks presentable.

My drawers? Closets? Kitchen cabinets? Beneath bathroom sinks? Under the bed?

Pig sty's, each and every one.

If I can get rid of a mess by pushing it under the bed, shoving it in a drawer, or hiding it in a cabinet, by gum that's what I'm doing.

So, I am outwardly neat.

Or a secret slob, whichever definition tickles your fancy.

Here's the problem.

Mom - outwardly and inwardly neat mom - is going to be here tomorrow.

Now, my mother has seen my apartment, as well as several other apartments I have lived in. She has even gone so far as to be impressed with my cleanliness.

BUT - Mom has never been in any of my apartments unsupervised, because my parents have never stayed with me before. In the past, they have stayed in a hotel. (To make a long story short, before Tim and I got married we were living in sin. My parents are Catholic. If they slept in my apartment they would be condemning themselves to hell by association. Or something like that.)

I fear that my secret slovenliness is about to be discovered.

Why?

I figure I came by the nosy know-it-all-ness genetically.

P.S. I dedicate the blog post to my Aunt Sharon, who all but demanded that I post something before 11PM tonight. I had planned to write about how I think I am allergic to mushrooms (it's fun being a vegetarian) but this seemed more appropriate, since my parents are sleeping in her house tonight. I love you, Aunt Sharon! Thanks for being 1 of at least (and probably only) 4 people who read my blog every day - you keep me writing.