All The World's A Show...

And I think sometimes I play the comic relief. 
Yesterday was eventful. I managed to drop, knock over, spill or injure everyone and thing that came into contact with me. My intention was to cram my cleaning into one day (that being yesterday) so that I could spend the last day of Erik's DONSA weekend with him. (For anyone who isn't aware, DONSA = Day Of No Scheduled Activities.) However, after realizing that I was probably going to kill myself in a massive accident of epic proportions if I continued handling the knives in the dishwasher or mopped floors and then walked on them, I decided to hide and do nothing of the sort and instead spent the day between my computer and the couch. I was much safer in the long room and escaped the day with nothing more than a stingy, itchy cut on the back of my hand...which I don't recall getting and thus am unsure how or where I got it, but none-the-less, I survived.
Today after seeming a bit less accident-prone I decided to start some of the cleaning. I knocked out laundry & the kitchen and got rid of the clutter, which are the three things that drive me the most batty. Tomorrow I intend to do the bathroom and the floors and nag Erik until he picks up his cluttered man room so I don't feel embarrassed and leave the door closed the entire time we have company.
There's a clear difference in wiring in men and women. Men see clutter and think "But atleast I can see where everything is," whereas we women see clutter and think "Ah! I can see where everything is! No! Put it away!"  Obviously the statement appears similar, but to a man it's a simple easy way to lay all of your crap out and with a woman we think to ourselves that everything should go somewhere and not be obviously lying around for others to see. An example:  We have one dresser between the two of us, so most of our clothes are folded outside the dresser piles on the floor. However, I refuse to let our underwear and socks be outside of the dresser. Now, for Erik, as a man, his logic is as follows: I am a man. I wear underwear. Everyone wears underwear and everyone knows that everyone wears underwear, so if anyone sees my underwear why does it matter since they know I wear underwear anyway?  Though I see his point, my brain, as a woman, sees the situation in a completely different light: Who cares if everyone wears underwear and knows I wear underwear? That doesn't man I want them to see my underwear or know what it looks like!
So really, I guess it's the same for everything else. Sure, I could leave out our dvds, our games, our books, our plates and dishes and people would know that clearly, we all use these things, but why do I want them to look at it and see it all out? Besides, as women especially, we tend to judge what we see and remember it clearly. This brings me to the whole military ball thing: Erik doesn't understand that if there is a ball every year that you can't wear the same dress two years in a row. The first year you wear it, every woman in the room will look at you, whether in her head or out loud will judge your dress and you for wearing it and the image will be seared into her memory the next year. Not so well that she'd be able to recall each seam to a police sketch artist, but most definitely clear enough to recall that you made the serious faux pas of wearing the same dress twice. The fact is that, intended or not, it is our nature. We are a catty, territorial breed. We judge and we comment.  This is why we clean before company visits even if we are already tidy to begin with. This is why we buy new dresses for each big occasion.  This is why men will never understand. God Bless them for trying, though.

<3s
Fae