I really wish I was more domestic.
I wonder if there is a chance I was born sans a gene, or if perhaps I had a traumatic incident with a vacuum cleaner when I was young. And maybe I just blocked it our entirely and the answer to my quasi-lack of adult life skills can all be explained by a vacuum tube and an overly inquisitive nature. (I hope so, therapy is kinda pricey.)
My boyfriend laments my messy, messy ways. Rightly so, we are currently sharing a space and no human should have to live alongside a monstrous pile of clothes that consumes human children and small dogs, in which I have affectionately named, The Vortex. I insist V and I have history, so it's too late to give him the boot now. He says I'm just lazy.
I don't want to believe I'm just a lazy POS, case closed. I feel like I have arguments to combat this claim. Sure, there's all that jazz about holding down two jobs and making it through school and blah blah blah..but I'm talking about real, concrete examples.
I mean, I'd definitely chase after an ice cream truck in a heartbeat if I felt my inalienable snacking rights were being threatened. In college, I singlehandedly spearheaded the planning and execution of themed party ensembles on more than one occasion. And in the face of my mother's refusal to get me a rodent pet as a child, I posted a rebuttal list on the door of my bedroom entitled, "Top Ten Reasons Why Hamsters are Great!" Just the right balance of proactive and passive aggressive, I think.
See, Anthony? I'm not lazy. These endeavors required forethought, careful planning and most importantly--passion.
Okay, maybe not so much the thing about the ice cream truck, because that doesnt involve planning-- that just requires passion for ice cream.
But still.
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