Are You There, Blog? It’s Me, Margaret. I’m Totally Lying. My Name Is Jackie.

Last week I house/babysat. A friend of my son’s– he 15, so he doesn’t really require much. The parents were going out of town to set their other child up in Ridiculously Expensive Private College, and rather than bring my son’s friend to our tiny and disgustingly hot and humid evaporative-cooled hellhole for a few days, we agreed to stay at their spacious and air-conditioned home. Even though it was lovely to have 1) space and 2) cold, dry air, it’s always weird inhabiting someone else’s space.

I’d been in those parts of the house immediately accessible from the front door– I’d seen enough to know that the house appeared to be clean– well, sterile compared to my own home, really. It was not until I took possession of said house for a period of three days that I knew the true and complete horror of the situation.

The house wasn’t just tidy. It was meticulously clean and organized. It gave new meaning to the phrase, “A place for everything, and everything in its place.”

See, I’m a latent perfectionist. I want my house to look as anally tidy as this house. But I’m lazy. And I’m a single mother. And I’m poor. My house is not going to conform to my secret fantasies of freakish cleanliness and organization. Because I can’t have it perfect, I won’t have it at all. It’s all or nothing. Since my house can’t be the shining example of cleanliness and organization, I fling my hands up and say, “Fuck it!”

This house had no junk drawer. Instead, there was a drawer with protein and granola bars, filed in neat rows. There was a cup of writing utensils next to the phone, and a neatly written and precisely-placed list of phone numbers hanging above. In the laundry room was a set of wall-mounted cubbyholes, neatly labeled with names of family members. There was a cubby marked “MAIL”. There was a corkboard with miscellany attached– those “Buy 10, Get 1 Free!” cards, used bookstore credits, business cards. The bathrooms were spotless, the guest towels hung just so. Beds made, natch. On the dining room table was a basket containing baggies filled with snacks. The pantry contained no five-year-old cans of green chiles.

The refrigerator was neat and clean, everything appropriately placed in baggies or plastic containers with lids. No red meat, no junk. No Kraft American cheese; just reduced fat Babybel. No hot dogs, no nitrate-filled cold cuts.

I was about to commit hari-kari, but then I found the freezer full of Klondike bars. Ha ha! I thought. NOW who’s so perfect???

I resolved to come home and immediately put my home in spotless order. That was two days ago. So far I have done two loads of laundry. And I wrote this blog post.