I am one of those twisted individuals that inspect every bite of food before allowing it to enter my body. I do this with much regret, as I find myself consuming items that under normal laboratory conditions, would not be acceptable. I hate embarrassing good people even more than I hate eating bugs/hair. I generally choke down what they call ‘food’ even though I know otherwise. I am terribly afraid of contaminating my otherwise clean body with the filth of others. If I am going to eat dirt, I would at least like to know what sort of dirt my body will be attempting to process.

For this reason, I hate restaurants, and I absolutely loathe eating at people’s homes with every fiber of my pathetic existence. I am under now penalty going to tell you that my home is not perfect, I have a 1 bedroom apartment with my clothing resting on plastic shelves instead of inside a dresser. My living room has a loveseat with my family’s tartan, and the trash can in my kitchen smells like old spaghetti. As such, I do not expect you to stay for dinner (not that I want to feed you), and I expect the same courtesy in your sty of a home. For those of you that take your filth a step further… I have this message:

You’re the only one in the world who likes your dog, and for god’s sake, buy a damn lint roller.
Dog/Cat hair is not a condiment, and poop is not an air freshener.
If you’re going to have an animal within your home, install hardwood floors, and disposable area rugs. Clean the fucking litter box, and for god’s sake, restrain your animal when you drag me into your living room. A Kiss hello is annoying enough without some furry invalid inspecting my man-purse.

These are the homes of the average lower-middle class family. This is the family that holds ‘family values’ in very high regard. They get together for every holiday, even make a few holidays up on their own. They are generally warm, loving people, who will tell you they don’t have much, but what they have they’d give to you in a heartbeat. When they say they don’t have much, they mean of value. Their homes are filled with the clutter of generations of tastelessness and infrugility. They’ll offer you free furniture for your new place, and I use the term furniture very loosely… it’ll be a litter box with upholstery. If you do not accept their ‘gifts,’ they’ll look down upon you, and ask you “How can you live this way?”

Of course, visit any of these homes… you’ll find any number of cats, dogs, or wretched children. You’ll find crumbs in the couch, and an untold amount of feces on EVERYTHING. These are the first people to judge, and the last to clean. To them, a diaper needs only be changed when it falls off under its own weight, and a trash can needs only be emptied, never actually washed.

They’ll look at you with their oddly stained teeth, breathe tainted by god-knows-what, and their clothes… good god…. The smell of cat-piss fills my nose even now, in memory. At what point does it become acceptable to wear urine as a perfume?

We are so quick to judge, but who tends our garden while we direct others?