It’s not so much embarassing that I spilled a whole container of dried parsley flakes all over my kitchen floor…no, the embarassing thing is, as I was sweeping it up, I pondered — for a split second — if I could feasibly salvage said parsley flakes.  As if I could scoop them up and put them back in the canister.

I’m not a clean person.  I never was.

Look at that face. That is the face of a little shit.

You know for a fact she never picked up her toys.  “Nnnnooo. I want to be messy and dirty and trip over my dolls as I dance to the Help! album!” she says.  If I was ever grounded, it was for a)stealing or b)not cleaning.

Now that I am twenty-two, living in my own little studio without mom’s threats or roommates’ potential judgements, I live in delicious, delicious filth.  Not smelly, moldy filth — just cluttered, unorganized clusters of mess.  I doubt I will ever be a neat person.  Maybe if I ever have children and I have to baby-proof the place.  Maybe then.

Or maybe my child will be the smelly child.  Maybe my child will be the Pigpen Child with all the smell lines around him.