Does anyone have a teenager I could borrow to stalk around my house, alternating between moods of happily hyper and ticked-off depression at random intervals throughout the day?
I miss Cheyenne.
That being said, I’m going to kill her when she gets back.
Because? I’m cleaning her room, getting it all dusted and windexed and ready for my sister-in-law, and I discover trash. Lots and lots of trash. Candy wrappers, mainly. Hidden under the bed, under the dresser, and oh–BEHIND THE MIRROR ON HER WALL.
Who hides trash behind a wall mirror? I’ve got to give it to her–that’s creative.
Or desperate. One of the two. Or both.
I wouldn’t say it’s at all lazy. No–it takes more effort to cram trash behind a WALL MIRROR than it does to walk 3 feet to the trash can. I guess the space between her bed and the wall must have been full at the time.
I should have seen this coming. This is, after all, the same kid who stuffed trash in her dirty socks, which she then stuffed under her bed, when I told her to clean her room. She’s not messy–on the surface. But underneath? She’s one dead cat away from an episode of “Hoarders”.
Are all teenagers like this? Was I like this? I’ll answer that–maybe to a certain extent…but I’ll tell you that as long as I can remember I have had this compulsive urge to throw things away–because I can’t stand clutter and dust and trash. So imagine how bonkers I’ve become trying to keep up with the massive amounts of doghair coating the floors of my house at any given moment of any given day.
Well. That’s it. I’m done with my rant. I’ll go back to cleaning Cheyenne’s room now. I wish she were here so I could ground her.
That is all.