A Weak Argument in Favor of Messiness 

My mother has for the entirety of my life battled my mess. The extended period that I lived with her post-college was especially painful for her, what with my bed unmade and crumbs on the table (this is probably why I wasn’t given a key to the house for those three years…) but I managed with the help of a cleaning lady who was well worth the money I paid her. 
Occasionally, I am vindicated in my messiness (on the days I’m not being bold and imaginative and my clothes all dirty, the fact that I own 93 pairs of panties keeps my messiness from being an issue). 

People are always mentioning the disaster zone that is my car, and I’ll admit I could toss the trash more frequently, but it has it’s perks too. I am never without some necessity.

I have two pairs of designer sunglasses, one inherited and one a gift, and a pair of prescription glasses. My sight is protected and in turn your life.

I have a salad bowl, in case I’m invited to an impromptu pot luck.

There is 15 lbs of kitty litter in the very back, originally for ice storms but maybe for kitty accidents, because one never knows.

I have a dog bed in my backseat, it’s on top of the dog hammock that I use to transport my dog, and groceries, in comfort.

I have no less than 90 discarded drink containers and four or five squares of extremely nasty chocolate, would could prove useful in ice storms when the kitty litter has been exhausted. 

In the cubby above my radio I have three lip crayons, an earring, one of my student IDs, a condom, a battery, and some string. I can MacGyver myself out of just about anything with those tools, or I can grab the condom everytime o reach for the ID to hand to the parking attendant. 

I also have a car cane, because as I age it becomes harder and harder to squeeze out of my mess and a little bit of leverage can’t hurt…

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