Intervention

Friday night I tumbled in the door at about 10:30 after a much-needed grocery run. Wade helped me unpack, and because he'd just spent some quality time in my cupboards, he decided it was time for an intervention. To know why, you need look no further than my pencil drawer.


A few minutes later, Wade gave me the early Christmas gift of a gleaming cupboard of canned goods.


I've been opening it when I walk by just to pause and feel order.

This encounter is a good illustration of my philosophy that there are two types of people in this world:

• Nice People. These are the people who get out the scissors every time they need to open a cereal box lining. They use things like twist ties and toothpaste lids.
• People Like Me. We rip into every bag of chips like it's our biggest package on Christmas morning. We lick smudged CD's. And where the heck are our keys?!

I think of myself as a tidy slob. If and when my house is straight, the pillows are plumped, the decorations futzed, and the countertops gleam like whited sepulchers. But you should probably be careful when you open that closet door.

Grandma Jean taught me the trick of stashing dirty dishes in the oven when company comes. I thought this was a good idea until I forgot about said plastic dishes the next time I preheated the oven. That was a big stinky fire.

Every few months I go on a Kiersten kick (Kiersten is a dear and highly organized friend). I buy Sterilite containers, I label them, I clean out drawers. But, inevitably, six weeks later I'm dumping the contents of the same containers onto the floor while I rummage for a nail file. My hidden spaces are a monument to the Second Law of Thermodynamics, the one about increasing disorder.

The truth is, if I ever want to be a Nice Person, I don't need more Sterilite. I need a new personality.

Are you a Nice Person or the other kind?