And suddenly I think, if my house is a mess anyway, why not have some fun?
I
baked freedom today.I baked freedom because my house is a mess.
My house is a mess because we just toiveled a new set of glassware and have nowhere to put it, because we’re in the process of putting up shelves, but ran out of screws.
My house is a mess because we have wooden shelves and metal brackets and a borrowed drill and various screwdrivers on the floor, and parts of the air-conditioning unit are sitting in the sink, for heaven’s sake. And because of the faulty AC unit, I was too hot to breathe yesterday, let alone clean up.
My house is a mess because it’s the kind of tiny, cozy house in which you can only dry laundry when the table is folded to fit the drying rack, can only host guests for meals if the kitchen stools are stowed in the bedroom. My house simply doesn’t have the capacity for all the personality we’re squeezing inside it.
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