I usually pride myself on being organized around the house; everything has it’s place and all that. Should someone stop by for an impromptu visit, I wouldn’t be embarrassed by fur balls collected under the piano. Why? Because normally they’d be swept up.

And if a friend were to go into my garage pantry, first I’d wonder why, but then I’d be happy she thought I wouldn’t mind. And I wouldn’t. But if she did that today, I’d be embarrassed by its disorganization. I’m usually compulsively neat — products lined up, labels facing forward, matching items near each other, etc. But it’s currently in disarray. See what I mean?