A couple weekends ago I went on a big rampage, cleaning up the clutter around our home. This is not to be confused with actual cleaning; oh, no — that was tackled this morning by Yours Truly, around 6:00 am, after I woke up and realized there was no falling back asleep.
But there were masses of articles of clothing, shoes everywhere, papers strewn about (okay, maybe not that bad, but you get the idea), and I’m sorry to say, most of them were *gulps* mine.
I do not claim to be an organized gal.
Once I spend a lengthy amount of time organizing or cleaning a particular area, I ride the waves of motivation for about a month thereafter, till I decide it’s not really that big of a deal. So every day I’ve worked diligently at ensuring our clothes were, at the very least, in our bedroom, but most preferably the closet, and I was feeling pretty good.
To top it off, Husband and I bought new winter wardrobes over the weekend, so I got all excited like a little kid the night before picture day and plotted out my outfit for this morning. And it was going to be awesome.
In fact, it was awesome till right after lunch, when I looked down and saw crusty yellow on the shirt because I failed to put it into the dirty clothes hamper. Instead I hung it up.
BEFORE YOU START JUDGING THE FACT I WEAR CLOTHING MORE THAN ONCE BEFORE WASHING IT, let me bring to the table that I don’t really ever sweat and I have yet to be proven wrong on the basis that I don’t have a body odor.
I’m just saying.
So, true story: I wore a dirty shirt, with yellow crusties on it (Kraft macaroni and cheese, if you’re really curious) to work today because sometimes I fail at life, even when I’m working really hard at being more better.