It’s official. I can’t keep up with my life. My life is racing ahead of me, accruing debt, getting dirty, eating all the food in the house, and I’m straggling many days behind hoping that my direct deposit hits before the mortgage check does, mopping up only the most extreme messes (did you know that eggs explode in the microwave??) and pulling out all the culinary stops to create dishes for the family using only pasta from the Ming dynasty and a jar of pimentos.
There are no Martha Points for me here. Martha Points of the positive sort are a distant memory. Like being a size 8.
I’m tired of it. I can’t live like this any longer. But since I have no ability to change my life in the foreseeable future, I’m simply going to redefine success.
So here are the new rules.
1. Laundry is now a hip design feature. Post modern and deconstructionist, piles of laundry are the new bean-bag chair.
2. “How High Can You Pile the Junk Mail” will be competitive sport requiring its own game show. And I will go on the game show, I will so win the gameshow, and with my winnings I will hire back my housekeeper, Martha, to help disassemble the training center.
3. Knowing the interests and activities of my children will be replaced with remembering how many I have. Teenagers want you to be less nosy anyway.
4. The “jungle look” is in. For the yard or your legs. Take your pick.
5. Gray is the new black. Which means that all the dust-covered surfaces in my house – the furniture, the floor, the cats – are now the height of haute design.
I think I’ll write a comparable set of rules next week about personal hygiene. Because if we could just all agree that three-day-old mascara is hawt I could get an extra twenty minutes of sleep every day and say good-bye to Mr. Chisel.