By Heather O.
With my aunt’s passing, her children are, sooner or later, going to have to go through her house. I don’t know if my uncle will continue to live there or not, but regardless, at some point, somebody has to go through all her stuff.
And, of course, being the morbid person that I am, it has got me thinking about what somebody would think if I died and they had to go through my stuff.
And, of course, if people went through my stuff, they would realize what kind of woman I am.
And I don’t want to be “that” kind of woman. For example, I found myself looking around my house, and I saw 2 diapers on the floor of my bedroom that I hadn’t taken downstairs yet. I quickly took them down to the trash, because I don’t want to be the kind of woman who doesn’t throw diapers away.
As I put on some water to boil for some eggs, I saw some crayons Little Sister had scattered on the floor, and I quickly picked them up, because I don’t want to be the kind of woman who doesn’t keep her crayons organized.
Then Little Sister had a poopy diaper, so I immediately brought her upstairs to change it, and immediately threw her diaper away (see above mentioning of diapers).
Then I noticed that it was almost 10 o’clock in the morning, and I hadn’t showered yet, so I jumped in the shower, because I don’t want to be the kind of woman who goes the whole day without managing to get in a shower.
Then, in the shower, I noticed that it hadn’t been cleaned for a little while, so I grabbed the shower cleaner, and while I conditioned my hair, I sprayed the shower curtain and cleaned the corners with my mildew remover. Because I don’t want to be the kind of woman who has mildew in her shower.
I got out of the clean shower, and got dressed, and started reorganizing my closet while I got dressed, because (say it with me) I don’t want to be the kind of woman who has a messy closet.
Then, I smelled something. Something burning? What was it?
Oh, right. The water. In the pan. Boiling. For my eggs. For at least a half an hour. Because I was busy being a different kind of woman.
So, if I die, people will say, “Hey, wow, what a clean shower. Hey, wow, she has an organized closet, and look, not a diaper out of place. Her house sure stinks like burned pots, though.”
Maybe I should just stick with who I am.
Besides, I probably won’t care what other people think when I’m dead.
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