Disorganized Chaos

Tiffany and I have been living out of suitcases and duffel bags so long that I've stopped even pretending to fold my clothes anymore. Except for my dress pants and shirts, my wardrobe (mostly t-shirts and capris since we moved here in August and haven't really unpacked our winter wear yet) is shoved onto a few shelves in our friends' basement. The majority of our clothes are still packed tightly in boxes. When I take a pair of pants to the dry cleaners, my lower-half options decrease by about 20 percent. Living in a state of such chaos can make my mornings very frustrating.

"I'm turning on the light!" I shrieked to Tiffany this morning after rummaging around in the dark for several minutes. She was supposed to have had the luxury of a later wake-up time than I did. "I can't find anything! I need the shirt-thingy that I wear underneath fancy shirts, and I have to leave in 13 minutes!"

"Mmmmm," she mumbled.

"I'm dumping all my clothes on the bed!" I cried, tossing things with both hands behind on me onto the comforter so I'd have more room to assess what I was finding. "I can't find that shirt-thingy!"

Sometimes I find repeating myself makes people more likely to do something for me.

"What shirt-thingy?" Tiffany asked, extricating herself from my growing pile.

"The one with the straps..."

"Is the shirt you're wearing see-through? Do you actually need the shirt-thingy?"

I looked at myself in the mirror and held my hand up inside my shirt. I couldn't see my hand... or could I? Now in a panic, I picked a regular t-shirt from the pile and put it on underneath my fancy shirt. Tiffany shook her head at me slowly.

"I don't care what it looks like," I said, lying through my gritted teeth. "I'm wearing it!"

Tiffany saved the day. When I came back downstairs from putting bread in the toaster for peanut butter toast, the emergency breakfast I make when I don't have time for anything else, Tiffany had my shirt-thingy dangling from her pinky. I put it on and then sprinted back upstairs again to eat. Still, I wanted her to know how much I appreciated what she'd done.

"Can you come upstairs to give me a kiss!" I cried. "I have eight minutes!"