She has a bad leak in her bathroom ceiling. She thinks it maybe us.
But there is only one place water gets on the floor, and that's only after showers and we dry it off.
So she came up today.
My house is not neat. I'm the first person to say so. I have piles of junk and papers and books everywhere. And some stuff not in piles.
I'm working on it. Slowly. I've been concentrating on the most important things - paying bills, keeping my kitchen in reasonable shape, my bathroom sanitary (good thing, huh? I didn't have to do anything but clean off my vanity today - the toilet and bathtub are *clean*) and half the dining room table available for, well, dining. Also, I have bags of papers that I just want my husband to take out, which makes for extra clutter.
Heck, I'm even being good about my laundry. As soon as we get it upstairs, we put it away all still nice and folded from the laundromat. Much better than the old way, which was dump out the laundry bag, find what you want to wear and then put it all back in the bag that night before going to sleep. Wooden laundry bags with drawers! Amazing things.
Anyway, she doesn't know that. All she knows is that I have a cluttered apartment.
I pay my rent on time and in full. We do not leave food around so there are no cockroaches. We do not have pets (okay, fine, Jonathan doesn't like animals, but if we were allowed, I'd find a way to have a dog. I miss having a dog.) The only parties we have have been zine collations and filksings - all nice and quiet. We're *great* tenants. Nothing in the lease says I have to be neat.