I’ll tell you what man, this is my week. Yep, this is it. The one I’ve been waiting for. Two separate, completely unrelated and costly pieces of my van fell apart within three days of each other. Half of my back decided to stop working. I practically knocked myself out when I opened the refrigerator door into my skull. I wore my underwear inside-out to work two different days. I’ve lost most of my verbal capacities due to “that time of the month”. My nose is running like it stole something. My children are bickering to no end, and I’m having a birthday party for a four-year-old on Sunday. Which means I need to be cleaning today. “Need to be” being the operative words.

I haven’t even begun. My back hurts when I squat or bend down to pick up a toy, my nose drips every time I get past a 45 degree angle, and the demolition team is running on full power behind me every step of the way. My friends tell me, “We don’t care what your house looks like, Katie. We’re just coming to see the birthday girl and have some fun!” Yes, I’m sure you all mean these words at the time, but aren’t you also thinking in the back of your mind, “Besides, it’d be nice to see someone’s house looking worse than mine. It might make me feel a little more human and better about myself”? Because to be honest, it does feel good to see another woman’s reality once in a while.

We’re so dishonest with each other, aren’t we? We only invite each other over when our homes are clean and our children are neatly dressed. We hardly ever show each other the reality of our day-to-day lives unless we are the very best of friends. The real problem is that we all do it. It’s ingrained in our DNA to pretend like our lives, our homes, our children are all running smoothly and perfectly all of the time. While the reality is that we’re lucky if one of those things is on track once in a while. But we can hide these things behind our doors and inside our homes until we’re about to have 30 people into our hiding spots. And then we clean like hell.

But what if you and I put away our vacuums and mops and left some of those toys on the floor where (let’s face it) they really do belong. What if you had me into your home to see how you really live, just once. And then you came to mine. Because once you get past that first initial shock of, “Holy Cow! This woman lives with syrup on her counter, crumbs on the floor and dirty socks everywhere too!”, I think you and I could become the best of friends.

As long as you don’t mind that bump on my forehead.