Big. Scary. Monsters.
They look a lot like dust bunnies.
Probably because they are dust bunnies.
I do not like to clean. My son can testify to this as one of the first things out of his mouth when he sees me touch the vacuum is: “Who’s coming over?”
Like dental surgery, housework is to be done only when absolutely necessary. I don’t know where I got my high chaos tolerance. I’m sure my mother would like me to disclose that my childhood home was always adequately clean. I did not grow up in squalor.
And I want to point out- I do not live in squalor now- just chaos. There is a difference. Chaos is clean dishes, clean laundry but piles and stacks of papers, books and other interesting items that clutter but are well away from the standard or hoarder. Chaos means that nobody is in danger of getting tetanus from walking in the living room – but they might be in danger of having the tv screen blurry due to the screen cover made of dust.
Out of a desperation to feel like I actually care – once a month - I have an amazing house cleaner come in to ensure that for at least a day or two the dust is gone, the monsters are defeated and the television is actually seen in HD. Part of me wishes that keeping up the house was something in which I took pride. Part of me wishes that it matters to me that the floor needs to be swept but the bigger part of me is totally fine with chaos and dust bunnies and blurry TV sets. After all, there isn’t anything worth watching until Downton Abbey returns anyway, right?
I might even dust for that.