Dirty Girl

So I tried it– I didn’t clean my house for company. (For those of who have no idea what I’m talking about, I’m referencing this article). My friend Mephanie actually reads my blog and follows me on Facebook, so before she came over she asked, ‘So are you doing it? Are you leaving your house as-is?”

God I hate when people pay attention. I had no choice. I cannot turn away from a challenge.

It was like walking around naked; it took some adjustment. You know when you’re naked and at first you’re a little anxious? You’re thinking about what parts are jiggling where… trying to remember when you last cleaned things and how well? You try to walk normal but you’re also trying to catch your reflection in weird, mundane things like the refrigerator and stove? And you keep bending over just to feel the rush of air between your cheeks? You know what I’m talking about? You should feel good about being naked, but it takes some time to let yourself be OK with…all that. It takes some time to get used to being so exposed.

But then you relax. You let your bare-ass be caressed by the coldness of the couch, and you think, “Yeah. Yeah I could get used to this.”

That’s kind of what I went through with my dirty house. I was unsure at first– especially about 15 minutes before Mephanie’s arrival. I wanted to pick up a little. I wanted to wipe the oatmeal off of the table, and push all of the shopping carts back into their places. I wanted to close the door to the office, where I knew it stunk like dog and where the kids had made a giant mess of blocks.

I had establish a rule for myself: if it was normal cleaning, that was OK. If Meph wasn’t coming over, and this was just a normal Tuesday morning, would I do it? If the answer was no, then I had to leave it be.

It was so much harder then I expected. I’m not even sure what I was afraid of. I knew my friend wouldn’t judge me, and to be perfectly honest, the house wasn’t half bad to begin with. But it was the little things… the table frosted with breakfast, and the Lego’s scattered across the living room.

But it was also freeing. I was literally airing my dirty laundry. And it felt pretty good. I felt like a bad-ass, lip-gloss-wearing, cool-as-a-cucumber-hostess mother-fucker (OK, I may be getting a little bit worked up about this). I felt like a dirty girl. And I liked it.

And yeah, Meph’s pristine white socks are forever unclean, picking up debris like a mop as she roamed my kitchen. And her kid probably ate some pretzel’s off the floor and got a little dog hair in his water. But it all worked out.

And here’s the weirdest, more bazaar part of it all– when the kids went down for their naps, I cleaned. And not my normal mopey clean, where I drag my feet around the house, sighing with every toy I pick up. Tears didn’t fall on the table when I wiped it with the sponge. In fact, I think I may have been smiling.

It was reverse psychology 101– and it was amazing.

You all need to try it.

Try it, test it and let me know. Am I the only one?? Or are you crazy, too??