We have a serious issue with clothing in our house. While neither of us is particularly stylish, we have clothes everywhere. Jeans lurk under coffee tables, baskets of white undershirts peep out from behind closet doors, and stray sweat absorbent articles are more prevalent then carpeting on our floors. There’s no way around it- our home perpetually looks like a yard sale.
Over Spring Break I decided to get in touch with my inner June Cleaver and really tidy things up. I did the deep clean that I normally reserve for post-party films of gunk FOR NO REASON AT ALL! I folded sports bras, washed hoodies, and left stacks of fluffy, warm, fresh breeze stacks of goodness for Kevin to come home and savor before filing them according to his indecipherable man system of drawers.
Well, he came, he savored, and now we have clean clothes in the same spots that the dirty ones used to reside in. And while I am just as guilty as he is of lackadaisical housekeeping, I wonder, what more could I have done? Maybe next time I’ll hide his whiskey in the bottom of a clothes pile, just to see if it inspires him. I’m going to St. Louis to run as part of a marathon relay team this weekend, and (hint, hint, hint) it would be glorious not to come home to the clothes baskets still sitting full of his clothes. Kevin, if you are reading this, please for the love of all things Jim Beam, do not make me hide your sauce.