Domesticity gone feral

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At what point does one have to consider that maybe, just maybe, there is a problem with the domesticity of the mother of one’s child? ‘Ms Jean Brodie’s’ bedroom is beginning to be of some concern, notwithstanding the real possibility of becoming a fire risk, there is also the real risk of attracting vermin.

We can all be vulnerable at times at the accusation of being a trifle on the untidy side, even a bit of a hoarder but this scene is something else. Most of this stuff are clothes belonging to my daughter dating back years, long grown out of but still sitting there in a pile ever growing taller.

I’m all for keeping mementos from a special occasion or a particular item that is irreplaceable, but this is going to some extreme.  There are blankets, towels, shoes, socks…you name it, its there. Is this normal I ask?

Moreover, what kind of impression does this scene impart on my daughter? Will she too take on this kind of attitude in years to come? I’m no saint when it comes to tidiness and yes, storage is always a premium but this kind of hoarding really is stretching things a little far.

I’m sure if asked, she will say: ‘well, I have nowhere to put all my stuff’. Problem is, this stuff is well beyond any use from anyone here. I’m convinced this is the behaviour of someone who is not altogether. The problem is what to do about it? Its not my room. Its not somewhere I dare venture into just in case. I do know that whenever anything goes missing in the house my usual instinct is to assume it has been consumed in the vortex that emanates from the deepest darkest black hole that is ‘Ms Brodie’s’ bedroom.

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