Dirt

I’m not dishing dirt, but rather reviewing it. Or reading a review of it. There’s a book out called Dirt and Wendy Shalit, who I like, has written this review:

Ms. Lewis’s anthology ­offers a series of lively essays about “who wields the vacuum and why.” Subjects range from household help to a widower who realized too late how much his wife did for their home. Some authors are baby boomers, others are in their 30s or younger—but most are women who brag about not wielding a vacuum and an inability to keep order.

I do not brag about an inability to keep order. Au contraire. Everything has a place, and life is good when my tiny apartment is clean and organized. Like a ship. Life gets even better if I remember to buy flowers, just because they are pretty.  (Not like a ship. I don’t imagine there are flowers on the high seas.)

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Brigitte would like to illustrate another point of view… (I’m not proud of it, I’m just trying to be honest)

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