Okay, I suppose this one merits some back story… Those of you who know me (especially those who have seen either my dorm room or my room at home) are well aware that fastidiousness is not one of my more present characteristics. I’ve always hated the adage that a disorganized life is the sign of a disorganized brain. And my parents have always loved to remind me how much slovenliness can dissuade others from good impressions.
My mother always loved to remind me that my uniform needed to be neat, with my shirt tucked in and my skirt pressed when I was younger. My socks had to match and my shoes couldn’t have scuffs on them.
When I arrived at the academy, she drilled the importance of good first impressions into me. When the impression I made on the school was less than satisfactory, my parents’ solution was to ensure that my room and my clothes made as good an impression as I hoped to make.
Now fast forward to the start of my summer break and my gap year. My parents informed me that if I wanted to stay at home, I had to keep my personal living space up to their standards. To be honest, this was to be expected. I understood that if I had food in my room it would attract “vermin” (my father’s words) to the rest of the house.
The part I didn’t understand, however, was why it was my responsibility to clean up all of the boxes and tchotchkes that they had dumped in their while I was at school. Regardless, being the occasionally obedient daughter that I am, I cleaned my room and I am happy to report that as of today (two months after I returned from school) the floor of my room has been cleared of debris and random boxes and mopped.
Tomorrow my father and I will move my bed and dresser in the hopes that a new space will encourage a new love for the room and I’ll be sure to let you all know how that goes.
Until next time,