The other day on the Register, someone commented,
What is the point of blogging about your personal life? So you don’t like to camp and your dog took a crap in your filthy house. Very nice.
Yeah, well, the difference between this lady and me is that, when I write unpleasant, pointless stuff that nobody cares about, I get paid for it. Ha ha!
But I have actually been making an effort to defilthify my house lately, going so far as to clean out what I think of as “passive granola” that has accrued in my cabinets. I also put away the snow pants that everyone has been stepping over to get out the front door, because it’s August already, and winter is practically over. Fancy, eh?
I worried a little bit that, if I keep up this pace, I’ll lose all the street cred I gained when I wrote one of my most shared posts ever: Seven Decorating Tips from House Horrible Magazine, which documents the exact moment when we abandoned home school and just started teaching the kids poker.
But I should not have worried. My seven-year-old daughter picked some berries, and wanted to reserve them for herself. I suggested putting a lid on the container, and maybe leaving a note. This is what she wrote:
I really like the quiet menace behind “Boys change your mind.” I see a bright future for this kid. If we can only figure out some way she can get paid for writing this stuff . . .
