Monday, April 2, 2012

Dirty House Friends

The other day, as we prepared to have family over for a birthday celebration for Shaggy, I got to thinking about my Dirty House Friends. (DHF)

What the heck is a DHF, you might be asking? Well, if it isn't obvious, I will back into the answer.
If you knew that the Queen of England, the President of the United States, your favorite actor or actress, or perhaps a high profile athlete were coming to your long would you want to plan for that?

You might hire a maid service, right?

Heck, some of you are thinking you might hire a home improvement contractor.

I'm inclined to believe that some of you might be hiring an arsonist, or at least thinking about it.

These are NOT your dirty house friends!

How often do you have someone who stops by and as you get whatever it is that they came by for, you hear yourself say those 4 words, "don't mind the mess." In your head you're rationalizing all the reasons that you haven't picked up in a few days and there is moss growing on the vacuum. You married fellas might even be using the other words "my wife would kill me if she knew I had let you see this." (I mean the dirty house, you perverts!)

Now, most guys don't really have a lot of these feelings, but I am not an "Everyman" as my readers can attest. Many dudes hold on to that sexy pizza-box-on-the-couch look, so long as there isn't any underwear in the "public areas." These are the same guys whose "dinnerware" includes the latest slurpee cup series.
I'm not one of them. For whatever reason, I am probably far more anxious than I should be about what my unmowed lawn and unvacuumed living areas say about me. I worry about the wall down the hall that the cat has clawed and really needs help. There are spots on my carpet where clearly someone just dropped trou and relieved themselves. (at least that is what my brain is telling me that you are thinking!)

I could easily lose many corners of my man card for telling you I have no qualms about shopping for tablecloths. This would be for the simple reason that children are abusive to tables and mine bears so much sharpie wanderings and of course, the place where the iron was placed...face down...while hot. For some reason, the table top has a weird feel to it, kinda like summer when your arms stick to it...except all the matter how much I've tried to clean it. Perhaps I should reclaim my man card by taking a power sander to it, yeah! Or better yet a chainsaw, but that would create an epic mess that I would likely angst over.

I will never complain about anything paint related. I hate painting and as such, I love how the house is painted and wouldn't change a thing. If we had wallpaper in any abundance, again, it looks fantastic to me. Mrs. Mynd does all the painting and sometimes inflicts bodily harm on herself doing complaining! I'm so smart.

Please don't get me started about smells. Between two teenage boys, three cats and a cat box, and the 2'd think we were breeding hamsters that live in old shoes and eat asparagus and black licorice all day long while they work on old cars.

Ah, but...

Then there's the DHF crew. These are the people who for whatever unexplained reason are so non-threatening that you can, and do, invite them over regardless of what the house looks like. They are also the people who would never say anything about the wall, the carpet, the smells, your hair, your choice in Saturday attire, etc.

Jay of Jays Ramblings is one such friend, who appears to be on girlfriend hiatus from his blog. He is epically funny and I enjoy his company in my house to the point that he has his own key. I would be remiss without mentioning the Jones (who are always trying to keep up with us) and the Knights (who are more often around during the day) and Lainey, who despite all great life lessons, tragically has fallen into the clutches of Jay.

Yeah, you don't know these people...but you should!

Have you got any DFHs? Or have the ROUS's taken over?



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