Dirty Drawers

I’m a neat freak. If I were a Desperate Housewife, I’d be Bree. I’d rather be Gabby, Susan or Lynette…even Edie…but I’m Bree when it comes to my house. My kitchen table, for instance, has a cute little bowl of fruit in the middle of it. That is all that is allowed on it. Sometimes Frank will put his workout gloves on the kitchen table. They are immediately removed. Every now and again a stray piece of mail will find its way to my kitchen table. It only stays a second.

Same goes for the living room (no superfluous magazines on the coffee table), the bathroom (the hairdryer goes right back into the cabinet when I’m done) and the bedroom (bed is always made).

But I’ve got a dirty little secret that you would NEVER believe: It’s my dresser drawers. They’re a disaster.

I don’t just mean that there are white t-shirts mixed in with grey t-shirts or that the socks aren’t always paired up correctly. I mean that nothing, not one thing is folded. Each drawer is a crazy, disorganized mess of shorts, workout tops, t-shirts and pajamas. Don’t believe me? I’ve got proof:

Each drawer is worse than the next!

Oh, I’ve tried to organize them. I’ve spent hours, dumping out drawers, carefully folding clothes all Gap employee style. But they inevitably get like this again:

I’ve always wondered why it bothers me if other parts of the house aren’t just so (even my closet is perfect) yet I’m complacent with my drawers being in an eternal state of emergency.

When my Grandma was visiting last Thanksgiving she commented, “You’re like me. You like your house to be just right, everything in its place. But you want to know something?”

She paused dramatically while I waited for her to reveal her secret.

“My drawers are a dee-saster!”

“So are mine, Grandma!” I exclaimed.

“See, I don’t care if something's messy as long as nobody can see it. When I clean I just hide everything,” she said.

Interesting. It’s true that if I had see-through drawers I would probably keep everything neater. And sometimes people do go in my closet (since I give really thorough house tours) so the only place people don’t go is my drawers. They’re safe from judgment. Safe from ridicule.

But I still can’t find anything in there.

This weekend I’m going to try it again. I’m going to clean out and organize my drawers. I’m going to even try to keep them that way. And if I can't, I'm just gonna say that it's genetic.