Confessions of a Lousy Housekeeper

            I have a confession to make.  I’m a lousy housekeeper.  I don’t scrub my floors very often.  I don’t scour the sinks nearly as often as they need it.  I don’t make my bed every day, don’t dust consistently, don’t do dishes if I still have clean dishes in the cupboard, and I haven’t swept under my bed in who-knows-how-long.  And I’m okay with all that.  I don’t need complete organization and cleanliness in order to be happy.  I can ignore a dusty piano and laundry piled by the washer. 

            Being a lousy housekeeper has some benefits you may never have considered.  For example, I have no idea what I might find under my bed.  It could be anything smallish and quiet.  The possibilities boggle the mind.

            I might find a novel I want to read, one that I picked up from the best-seller shelf at the bookstore and then dropped off my nightstand.  By now I’ve forgotten what book it was, but when I find it, I’ll have something new to read for the weekend.

            I might find an old wallet with $10 hidden in a back pocket.  With $10 I could take a friend out for ice cream or pay off a library fine.  I might find $20 to put in the piggy bank for the leather couch I want when the kids move out and the dogs die.  I won’t find more than that, but if I did, I could take my sister to dinner and have time to talk without anyone calling, “Mo-o-m!”

            I could find:

·         The left brown shoe I can’t find anywhere

·         A chew toy that will keep my Chihuahua occupied for thirty minutes

·         That amethyst pendant that fell off its chain so many years ago

·         A blue box from Tiffany’s that my husband hid for Christmas

·         A pair of socks the exact blue of the slacks I want to wear tomorrow that are impossible to match to anything

·         A quarter from the year my father was born

·         A monster, waiting for me to be scared of the dark again

·         Extra strings for my violin so I can play it again

·         A valentine from a high school sweetheart with whom I’ve lost touch over the years and which will remind me of things that didn’t suck about high school

·         The tiny shoes my boys wore when they were blessed as infants

·         Two D batteries, which I need for my flashlight that just quit working

·         A poster of Sean Connery—I think he’s the sexiest man alive

·         Heck, maybe Sean Connery himself if I’m really lucky

·         My husband’s blue pajama bottoms

·         A picture drawn by my granddaughter

·         Ticket stubs from a great date

If your house is spotless, you won’t find any of these things under your bed.  The only thing under your bed is a stray dust bunny, and where’s the fun in that?