Our house is generally a little sticky, a bit cluttered and usually one load of laundry away from having Hugh Grant declare it a mountain. There have been many times I’ve walked through my front door after a long day and thought if only I had a match and a wee bit of fuel? Not that the scorched dirt policy is necessarily the best option but sometimes in a weak and desperate moment one spitballs an idea or too, that may or may not be considered a possible felony.

The thing is, I’m not entirely sure how it gets so bad so quickly. If I didn’t know better I would swear the house itself is on permanent self destruct. Maybe that’s it? Perhaps the house is so lacking in self esteem from years and years of abuse that it has literally given up. I wouldn’t blame…