I stumble on mismatched pairs of shoes and hit

the coat hanger dressed in eight layers.

The army of handbags sulks in the corner

as I throw my rucksack on top of them.

I call a salad cooking

and boil water strictly for coffee.

The fridge shelters butter and ketchup.

Sometimes I buy bread.

I make the bed just to find my socks

or the notes I made the night before.

For some reason pens and papers like to play

hide and seek under the covers.

I will never be your perfect wife.

Though dust has no chance

as I can’t stand my sneezing.

I’m just saying,

don’t leave your undies around.

I hate mess.

D in the A to Z challenge