Where Socks Go to Die
I realized today that I do not have a household. I have a househole. A hole. A pit. A cavity especially useful for burying things. That's what I've got.
Today is not my most positive day of domesticity. Maybe tomorrow will be better.
On the bright side, I am creating a treasure trove for future anthropologists. There is real cultural study to be gleaned around here, rife as we are with tools, papers, toys, clothing, books, and art projects. Based on this one test case, however, generations from now might believe that early 21st century people worshipped shoes and suffered from a phobia of closets and dresser drawers.
Time to tame the savages. Time to turn the nomads into agriculturalists. It's time to clean the house.
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