Friday, November 28, 2008

New mission

It occurred to me tonight, while watching a show about murder victims, that a great number of people traipse through a person's house when they've been killed. There is no longer any privacy, boundaries, or secrets. These people went to work or out for groceries and the next minute their house is an open museum for detectives and CSI agents to wander through.

I know, it's gruesome and strange thing to think about. But that's where my brain goes. And it reminds me of the "mother warning" to wear clean underwear because you never know when you'll be in an accident. Of course, the mother probably didn't know that you immediately release your bowels if you die, so clean underwear is a moot point.

But I digress.

What watching these shows has taught me is that I need to clean my house more often. My goal in life from now on should be to clean my house as though I will be brutally killed and a ton of investigators will be going through all my things looking for leads.

I mean, do I want the last thoughts about me to be "Ugh. Did she even know where the garbage can is? Seriously. Do some dishes, lady."

4 comments:

  1. When I watch those shows I always wonder why those people seem to be so neat. I mean, they find ONE hair in a person's car, and it is a clue. I am lucky if my car gets vacuumed once every six months!

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  2. Moot point...like a cow's opinion?

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  3. I'm cracking up because just while reading the first paragraph I was thinking, "It kinda puts a whole new slant on your mom telling you to wear clean underwear in case you get in an accident, huh?"

    HA! And then you went and said it in the next paragraph!!

    Great minds think alike. And so do moms.

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  4. See, this is why I internet stalk you. You and I? We're habit thinking doppelgangers.
    Only, my take on it is, if I were to fall down and break my leg right now, or have a heart attack, would the paramedics be able to get a gurney through this mess to get at me? And would they take one look at the unfolded laundry all over the couch and say, what a pig this woman is, maybe we should just put her out of her misery.
    Ya, I'm a freak. So what?

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Crap monkies say "what?"