Dirty Little Secrets

Set aside in a little pile are a few telling items. Collectively they scream, "This woman has absolutely no control over her life and has no business pretending to be a competent home owner."

A Tupperware container with rock hard, nearly unidentifiable Christmas cookies. I don't even remember the last time I made this particular type of cookie.  I am sure they precede my divorce. They are probably rancid. I take the container outside to the trash can without opening it. I could probably salvage the container; it is a nice one. But I fear some kind of Pandora's Box, opening of an ancient tomb, kind of universe-wide chain reaction. Better cut my losses.

There are several long lost serving utensils. Honestly, I'd thought Lars had taken them. Or perhaps a burglar. They'd disappeared that long ago. And that suddenly. They are sticky and scummy and will need to take a long ride in the dishwasher. If it is ever again plugged in.

An ant trap. No pretending now. What ants? There are ants?  I have ants?  I've never seen an ant. Where did THEY come from. You must have let them in yourself.

A mouse trap.  Maybe the mouse carcass attracted the ants. I am horrified. The trap was laid before the arrival of my mouser cat. Who is confined to the attic. Yeah...that's why I have the trap. Yes, with the ancient peanut butter blob on it. 

Several petrified breakfast bars of varying brands. And a package of Pop-Tarts.

I recall telling Wally when we met about the project that I have neither my sister's budget nor her housekeeping regimen. He laughed. He's probably laughing even harder now.  The budget he could have guessed at. My kitchen would fit in her bathroom. I am sure he never imagined that an impeccably dressed and groomed slob lived in my house. I am secretly wondering if I can credibly blame this on Lars.

"Yeah - once I discovered what a slob he is, divorce was inevitable. The way he used to just throw things back behind the cabinets just attracted bugs and other vermin. If I hadn't thrown him out, I am sure we'd have all manner of rodents by now. Luckily the rat left and took the cheese with him. Yay me! No seller's remorse here!"

In the end, I decide to ignore the whole thing. As I lay my head down upon my pillow, I convince myself that mine is not the worst house Wally has ever renovated, and every house, even the most pristine, has its dirty little secrets. A dozen rock hard cookies surely didn't shock him. And tomorrow is another day.