Less Underwear

Wanna know how to piss me off? Spring an unannounced visit on me. You know the kind where everything needs to be neat and tidy? The owner of our house is refinancing. They called me to tell me an appraiser was coming to view the house today. I have a 6 month old, and we just got back from vacation 2 weeks ago. Which in baby math is like 2 days because it takes you 1,000 times longer to accomplish ANY task. I've been running around my house, shoving dirty underwear under beds, and clean clothes in random drawers.

His name is Julio. That's all I know. Julio, I want to stab you. You asked when a good time for me was. I said Friday, or next week. Not TODAY. You will not be offered any sweet tea.

Because of you, I had to wipe out the tub I shaved in yesterday. It looked like an etch-a-sketch exploded in the bottom of the tub. I was going to take care of that next week after using the shower only for the rest of this week because I was too lazy to clean the tub. I have 2 bags of dirty diapers that need to go in the wash, but I forgot about the load that was in there from 2 days ago. So, I have to wash those clothes like 10 times to get the funk out of them. Julio, I hate you.

Because I hate you, I am wearing my Grandma's glasses for the entire viewing. I will also be talking like Harry Carey to make you really doubt my ability to function as a human being. Perhaps I will add a noticeable limp. I haven't showered yet today. I don't plan on it until after Julio leaves. I don't like the idea of someone just coming into my house and looking in my closets. I'm not that good of a house keeper. I also have like 70 pairs of underwear. (I am all sorts of braggy) but not nice underwear. I am talking Mom pants. I also have like this weird thing, where I can scan a room and not see the random pair of folded underwear on my coffee table. Then, company comes and I realize I am having a conversation about their family vacation with a pair of my underwear between us. Sort of like a plate of cookies, but way more weird.

Julio, I hate you.

I think I need to own less underwear. That way I can keep track of them better. A few months ago, my friend found out she was pregnant. She had let me borrow some of her maternity gear, and in all the excitement, I gathered it all up to give back to her. While I was at it, I decided to do a goodwill search through my own stuff, and a throw away even goodwill would be insulted by this pile. So, in the midst of all of that, I packed up a box of her things. She came by, and when she left she took the box with her. 3 hours later I received a text from her husband saying "Uhhhh I just saw your underwear." I was immediately creeped out, and went to the windows to see if he was peeping in. No, he wasn't. I had mistakenly given my friend a pair of my underwear. I AM AWESOME. You are welcome friend. I love you, this is a gift from the bottom of my heart. Which coincidentally coincides with my crotch.

I also just found 2 pairs stuffed in the seam of the couch. You would think that I had some sort of crazy life going on with lots of exotic escapades. Nope. I just clearly can't keep track of all my underwear.

Julio, this is ALL YOUR FAULT.