The Recovering Baptist is going to come over and help me clean. Y’all this makes me so happy I can’t even tell you. I feel kind of relieved, like I can start to get some stuff done before she comes, because she’s coming to help, so no matter what I don’t get done, it’s not the end of the world.
But let’s talk frankly. Not having a clean house makes me feel like a failure as a woman. I’m embarrassed to admit that, because if anyone should be over the whole “A woman’s got to keep her nest in order” crap, it should be me. And, you’d think, if it really makes me so unhappy, I would just clean.
But there is little I hate worse. Seriously, if milking your dog’s anal glands would get me out of cleaning the house for the month, I’ve got some rubber gloves right here.
And the Butcher lives here, too. It’s not like he looks at the now easily three foot stack of crap sitting on the coffee table and says, “I am a failure as a man. I have no worth.” He certainly doesn’t think that when he throws his trash in the sink and leaves it for me to fish out.
I used to tutor this kid and sometimes I’d spend the night at his house while his parents were in Florida. In their bedroom, there were only two things–a bed and a wardrobe. That’s it.
It felt so decadent, that they could have this whole room that contained nothing but a bed and a wardrobe. I could not keep my whole house that sparse, but I long for a bedroom that is pared down to just a bed and a dresser.
Anyway, when it was my turn to sleep on the couch last night, I was dozing through a conversation about how unpleasant to look at naked men’s bodies are.
Gentlemen.
Really. What the fuck?
I can understand that you don’t want to run around all the time thinking, “Oh, god damn, am I H-O-T hot!” “Look at my dick. Good lord almighty!” “Woo-hoo, I have a back a person would love to run his or her hands all over.”
But let me fill you in on a little secret. When you denigrate the things people love, people get insulted. When you talk about how unpleasant to look at naked you are, it makes me feel like you must think that people who do like to look at you naked are fucked up.
Or when you are all like, “I could never give a guy a blow job, how gross!” Well, great. I’ll keep that in mind, that you think blow jobs are gross.
Seriously, how can you walk around feeling so shitty about yourselves and thus, by extension, us?
Today, for me, at least take your penis in hand and smile at it. Maybe wave at it a little, just acknowledge that it’s there and charming in its own way. And, if you’re feeling particularly ballsy, just whisper, “Look at my dick. Good lord almighty.”
Or, shoot, come clean my house naked and I’ll yell it from the couch every time you come by with the vacuum cleaner.
Tiny Cat Pants 