Don't Clean Your House. It's Just Not Worth It.

This morning I brought the dogs down - same as I do pretty much every.single.morning.

Dexter cries a lot, but he goes first.

Bella is on a leash so she doesn't eat our cats.

Clyde - fat cat - is downstairs already - so I hold onto Bella to be sure he's safe.

Once I get to the bottom of the stairs I let go of the leash and Bella runs into the living room/kitchen area to either head outside or eat.

Close the gate behind me and we're good to go.

Let's try that this morning, shall we?

Walk downstairs, Dexter first. Bella on her leash, attached to my hand.

For some reason she lunges forward a bit harder than usual.

It's chilly in my house. Have I mentioned that?

And I'm wearing socks.

Cute Halloween socks with black cats on them.

Must have been that.

Lunge, pull, socks and a clean floor?

OW.

Me. Flat out.

On the floor.

Scuffed and bruised my right elbow and arm.

Landed smack on my right side.

Hip. Arm. All of it.

And I had started getting dressed early to get myself outside for a workout (never mind that I had no idea it was raining until I came down and looked out back. It's a quiet rain. Dang it!).

So. The socks. Argh.

Tears spring into my eyes.

See - we've been working on the non-dining dining room this weekend.

We did sweeping. And - get this - MOPPING.

We seriously made a dent in that space. And were proud of ourselves.

In fact, today is stage 2, or 3, or whatever's next. I was going to be doing a lot more in there.

But I've decided that it's worthless to clean my house.

Because look at what my house did to me after I took good care of it.

Actually, don't look. My arm is kind of gross.

It's definitely going to bruise.

Dang it.

See. THIS is why I typically don't clean my house.

It just isn't worth it.

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