As long time and faithful readers of my blog know (all seven of you), I am both a frequent traveller and an abysmal housekeeper.
Would it surprise you to know that, when we travel, I am meticulous about keeping things neat and tidy?
It surprises me. Hotels are where you are supposed to "let loose," flush inappropriate things down the toilet, roast goats in the trash can, etc. Not me. Sitting here now, in my luxurious king-sized room at the Radisson Hotel in Branson, MO, I can see the following:
1. All of the children's toys are neatly stowed in their respective toy bags.
2. All of the clean clothing is still neatly folded inside the suitcases and/or chest of drawers.
3. All of the dirty clothing is in the collapsible laundry basket that I brought with me from home. That's right. I brought a laundry basket on vacation.
The bathroom floor is dry. The toothbrushes are lined up neatly on the counter by the sink. The garbage is stowed in a bag, ready for the housekeeper to take away. The massive balloon spider acquired today by Princess is keeping a solitary watch from the neat-as-a-pin desk. In short, the room is orderly, organized, and utterly alien.
Not only that, but my car is clean. I just went down five floors to the car, where I took a giant ziploc bag and emptied the day's smoothie cups and candy wrappers and discarded them. Ordinarily, I clean my car when the trash level reaches the window and obstructs my view.
What is wrong with me? Why can't I trash hotel rooms and clean up my own house? It's a moral failing, I guess. Perhaps I should hire a cleaning person. If I knew someone was coming to my house to clean it, I'd be so mortified that they would see it dirty that I'd get it clean.
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