I’m having one of those days where I just cannot deal with everyone else’s mess.
I’m not the most tidy person to begin with. I won’t claim that I am. But I work at it. I clean up after myself and I fetch a new roll of TP when I use the last square. I don’t shove down the trash in a game of chicken, hoping the next person will give in and take it out.
I live with slobs. It’s a daily battle of “do I yell and scream and become the freakout queen” or do I (like my husband who once left a muddy dirtbike in his shower for a week, to the delight of his less laid back roommates) just chill.
I tried. Really I did. But I cannot chill. I have to leave my own bedroom on occasion and well, family, you’ve made my home un-liveable.
In an effort to prevent my daughters’ public shaming, I am posting the above video. This is it though kiddos. Next time I’m going public with the images I just shot in your rooms. The world will shudder at the sight of your bathroom counters covered with make up sludge, candy wrappers, nail polish drips and toothpaste overflow. Trust me. The world probably won’t cry for the ten towels you’ve ruined and the door that you’ve draped them over (the rest are on the floor). But people will NOT be on your side. Not even your friends, who are my friends on instagram too. Damn it. Why are your friends following me?! Because they know. They know I am THAT MOM.
And listen Dadfluential. You’re not winning any followers with your fridge experiments. You were far more likely to get lucky when I was still able to park in the garage (that *I* worked like a dog to clean). You know how long it takes to change a lightbulb in the laundry room? Three weeks. That’s when I get sick of asking and go get the ladder and do it myself.
I’m fed up with my family!
Consider yourself warned, people.
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