Well, I'm about to prove it. Please note that the following blog post contains disturbing and graphic images...
You know how I said T is completely lacking the remotest resemblance of a housekeeping gene? (I mean, even more than I am?) Well, yesterday I left the house after dinner, and before the kiddies' bedtime. The Norwegian Seamen's Church (which I really want to call Sailor's Church, can I? Please?!) had a sort of unofficial grand opening here in Okpo, with a little seminar on expat living. I went, and it was really good! I was glad I'd gone...but when I got home, what was waiting for me?? This:
da-da-da-daaaaaaa! (=ominous music)
I should have offered a big fat prize to anyone able to find room to set down a glass, on any surface but the floor...
In his defense, he had had a hard time putting the youngest to bed, she's been fussy in the evenings. And he DID apologize to me for not having cleaned up! So at least he knew. And another thing: did I clean up? Nope. I left it for this morning, as you can see by the daylight outside, after some half-hysterical giggles and a lot of eye-rolling and head-shaking.
But then, it was ten thirty in the evening. Time for bed...
Usually I stay up until around midnight, but not last night...I ran away and hid under the covers!
It looks much better now. Not 100%, but still. Good enough for me to sit down with a cup of coffee and write about it. I mean, how often is my place so messy that I actually feel the need to take a picture of it?
Wait -- I don't want to answer that...
(PS: We live in a furnished apartment, I take no responsibility for the decorating style; walls, floors, kitchen and furniture included.)
