The other day on the Register, someone commented,

What is the point of blogging about your personal life?  So you don’t like to camp and your dog took a crap in your filthy house.  Very nice.

Yeah, well, the difference between this lady and me is that, when I write unpleasant, pointless stuff that nobody cares about, I get paid for it.   Ha ha!

But I have actually been making an effort to defilthify my house lately, going so far as to clean out what I think of as “passive granola” that has accrued in my cabinets.  I also put away the snow pants that everyone has been stepping over to get out the front door, because it’s August already, and winter is practically over.  Fancy, eh?

I worried a little bit that, if I keep up this pace, I’ll lose all the street cred I gained when I wrote one of my most shared posts ever:  Seven Decorating Tips from House Horrible Magazine, which documents the exact moment when we abandoned home school and just started teaching the kids poker.

But I should not have worried.  My seven-year-old daughter picked some berries, and wanted to reserve them for herself.  I suggested putting a lid on the container, and maybe leaving a note.  This is what she wrote:

I really like the quiet menace behind “Boys change your mind.”  I see a bright future for this kid.  If we can only figure out some way she can get paid for writing this stuff . . .

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