I hate going through mail. Hate it. Probably because 9 out of 10 pieces of it is unsolicited CRAP with my name and address on it and therefore I will have to shred it. And I get irritated by the paper waste companies are so willing to indulge in and then make it my responsibility to recycle. The reason I am so agreeable to take on such household administrative tasks like paying bills and organizing tax documents? SO I DON’T HAVE TO CHECK THE MAILBOX.
So by the time I get to the authentic mail (like bills, unfortunately, or maybe Parents Magazine, or that delightful piece of personal mail), I am just a little bit irked and cynical.
Here’s an ad for a fire-safety ladder. OK, first of all, I don’t look that calm when making dinner, people. And the accessibility for your pre-schooler to sneak out at night? No.
And the closet? Nice and clean. And a LIE.
Unless that is the closet for just ONE WEEK’s worth of threads. And I don’t know many people with enough space for several of those closets. In fact, in our own home, we’re experiencing the Alice In Wonderland Effect: everything is shrinking, especially space.