Life on a Dead-End Street
"Suddenly, I was in this state of irrational anxiety. Would my home be deemed good enough (whatever that meant)? Would they feel comfortable here? Would I remember what to do with a guest? Would I feel ashamed of my cluttered house – that my carpets hadn’t been vacuumed in months because nobody had either the energy or the healthy muscles to clean them? Would the messy kitchen turn them off? Should it? In short – would they want to back out and steer clear of this house of infirmity?"
"Suddenly, I was in this state of irrational anxiety. Would my home be deemed good enough (whatever that meant)? Would they feel comfortable here? Would I remember what to do with a guest? Would I feel ashamed of my cluttered house – that my carpets hadn’t been vacuumed in months because nobody had either the energy or the healthy muscles to clean them? Would the messy kitchen turn them off? Should it? In short – would they want to back out and steer clear of this house of infirmity?"
