Call Before You Come Over

I aint' gonna lie to you. I'm not a good housekeeper. I mean, I take out the garbage and do the dishes and scrub the bathtub and all the "important" stuff, but I implore you to never just "stop by". This could cause immediate death by embarrassment.

Today I came home from work sick (I'm doing my best not to breathe on the monitor, I suggest you do the same) and took a nap. God, that was heavenly. But when I woke up I was all anxious... like my idle hands were screeching for something to do. Did I pick up a mop? A vacuum? A swiffer even? no.

Instead, I decided now was a good time to scrapbook. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know... I need another project like I need a hole in my head. I already have 2 half-knitted scarves by the side of my bed and 6 embroidery projects scattered around. I have the sewing machine set up on the dining room table from when I hemmed my jeans last week, and neat piles of hotel brochures sitting on the coffee table from my convention (ahem, in June).  Regardless, I dove right in. I grabbed my "fancy" scissors and the regular kind and the bursting envelope of vacation pictures and plopped myself in the middle of the living room floor.

After a 2 hours of cropping and slicing, I had to get up and stretch saying the famous last words "I'll clean that up tomorrow, I'm still working on it". I have every intention of working on it again tomorrow... but the reality is that it will sit there in a mess until at least Saturday, when I'll have the time to clean up after myself.

If you showed up unannounced, this is what you'd see : dead roses on the front porch, sewing bric-a-brac on the table, the coffee table piled up with with brochures, a floor full of scrapbook trash and a stack of pictures of me in NY, and the clean, folded laundry on the couch. Dude, it's embarrassing, so please call first. And give me at least an hour head-start.