I got a 725 page book from my mom for Christmas this year. "Martha Stewart's Homekeeping Handbook: The essential guide to caring for everything in your home." Basically, it's a guide for being perfect. Which I am not. Not even close. So, while I'm flipping through this massive book occasionally thinking "damn, I'm even more of a lazy piece of shit than I thought!" I ask my mom:
"Hey, what do you think of Rachael Ray?" She frowns a little. "Well, I don't like her."
"No? I love her! Why don't you like her." She smiled at my use of her pet peeve in Americans, the overuse of the word love.
"She's too fast. Her hair is wild. She doesn't plan ahead or measure and she just ..." so basically, she's not her beloved Martha. Who, my mom explains, is calm, organized and gives credit to the women in America who kick ass at keeping a home. I'm paraphrasing a little. I want to be one of those women. I really, really do. But I am so, so not. My mom, on the other hand, could teach even ol' Martha a thing or two.
But secretly, I do love the book. It might be my passport to reaching my lifelong goal of organizing everything.