In keeping with my southern heritage, I am hosting a Mary Kay party tomorrow night. We Southern ladies have a long-standing history of hosting parties where you invite all your friends and then try to sell them Tupperware, various and sundry skin care products, overpriced home decor, seriously knocked off handbags, or kitchen gadgets galore all in hopes of free merchandise for yourself. I’m not typically into hosting these parties but a friend asked and since I had just noticed the beginnings of crow’s-feet that day, I couldn’t say no to a free facial. Now, I’ve got ten of my girlfriends coming over for dinner and Mary Kay facials.

As I was getting ready for work this morning reviewing this week’s schedule that makes the President’s look easy, I realized I never finished redecorating from a remodel we did last November. I realized the quilt on the guest bed looked like it had traveled the Oregon Trail with the first group of pioneers. I realized my Christmas china was still in the dining room china cabinet, something Brian and I hadn’t notice until last month. By then, we figured the year was halfway over so there was no use in changing it out now. I also realized the spare bedroom had become a junk room eerily similar to the ones on Hoarders.

So today between meetings and conference calls, I scrambled to Bed Bath and Beyond to replace a funky shower curtain, find a new comforter for the guest bed and pick up a couple new dish towels to freshen up the kitchen. After a hard day at the office, I got in a workout and headed home. Hopefully, Brian wasn’t expecting anything extravagant for dinner. I barely had time to eat today much less cook. In the fridge, we had lettuce, smoked turkey lunch meat and roasted veggies leftover from last night’s supper. I chopped it all up, squeezed a little lemon juice and olive oil over the top, threw it on a plate and called it supper.

After my whirlwind dinner, I went through the house like a speeding bullet hanging the new shower curtain, fluffing pillows and wiping down countertops working up such a sweat I could have skipped my afternoon workout altogether. In the midst of yelling chores to my husband like a Marine drill sergeant, it dawned on me, these ladies are my friends not inspectors from the health department. My girlfriends are coming over to eat, laugh and furiously try to stop the aging process not interview me for the latest issue of Better Homes and Gardens. My house is not dirty, just a little cluttered. Thank goodness I came to that realization before I tackled the back bedroom junk room. Lord knows how long that would’ve taken. My house won’t be photographed by Southern Living any time soon but it’s my taste, as weird and eclectic as they be, and I like it.

Right now, in addition to fighting the urge to self medicate with a boxful of craisins over my displeasure that my home is not being exactly like I want it, I am fighting the perfectionist in me who wants to call an interior decorator, hand her my credit card and tell her to make me the next Design on a Dime episode. I just have to let go. I don’t have to be perfect.

Well, ummm, except for one thing….I’ve got to make a midnight run to Walmart for two standard pillows to fill up those shams I bought at lunch. After that, I’m done whether its perfect or not. Unfortunately, I’m not a miracle worker because that back bedroom looking like a Goodwill Store erupted in it sure needs one.

2 Samuel 22:31 As for God, his way is perfect; the word of the Lord is tried: he is a buckler to all them that trust in him.
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