My Mom is scary when she starts organizing. Very scary. Absolutely frightening, even. I’ve always known it to be true, this just serves as (more) confirmation.
As an example: this morning Mom did a ‘inspection’ of my room (of course, she didn’t call it that, as she didn’t want to raise suspicion. She called it ‘helping to organize some of the clothes’), and tonight my room is totally rearranged.
The thing that totally drives me zonkers though is when she goes and looks at the books I’ve got piled under the bed (note: this is an example- I didn’t really have stacks of books under my bed frame… I don’t think), or the huge pile of sweaters I’ve got stuffed into a box and tells me to go through and sort it.
“So what if they are soppy and I never read them? What do you mean you’ve only seen me wear this cardigan once in the past year? It’s my stuff isn’t it? Doesn’t that count for anything?”
Apparently it doesn’t.
Also in this new regime we are going to have to have our rooms checked before breakfast for cleanliness. Let me repeat that: before breakfast. (and probably before showers.)
Wish me well folks. If you don’t hear from me again check in my room: You’ll find me stuffing the soppy books and unused sweaters under the mattress. (what do you mean, lumps??)
PS- Before you think I’m being completely ungrateful, I will admit that my room looks a lot better, and is much nicer to be in. That said, I’m not going to stop griping. After all, I’ll be thirteen soon: I need to practice my teenager-ly snark! (Mom- and various other people who know me- would say I don’t need practice. It’s just ’cause they’re jealous of my almost-teenager-hood. Jan 7… say your prayers)