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"The Home Of The Year contest Committee really does not care whether we spend time together," my wife said. She headed toward
kitchen in search of iced tea, nearly tripping over a bag of clothes along way. "They just want to see a spotless house with all classiest decorations."
Who needs paper, anyway. Little Lady found a blank spot on wall, and started applying her green crayon.
"Well, that might make a good House Of The Year, but a home is a place to live in. It needs to exude love and comfort, not cleanliness," I said.
Apparently, I was still clueless. "Homes of year never exude love, and certainly not comfort," she explained, picking up a copy of Good Housekeeping from floor. "They are showcases of a woman's ability to keep a house in immaculate condition with absolute precision ... despite presence of a male creature around."
Ouch. Little Lady gleefully switched to red crayon. "Well I don't know anything about keeping a house tidy, but if that's what magazines want, why don't they call it The Janitorial Olympics?" I asked.
"I don't know. Maybe it's too hard for them to spell," my wife replied, smiling. "But they don't, so just get used to reality. We simply do not have even slightest, tiniest, most minuscule hope of ever winning Home Of The Year contest."
By then, Little Lady had drawn three stick figures on wall. "My home," she shouted, running to give Mommy a big hug.
I didn't need a magazine to tell me we already lived in home of year. And if dust doesn't kill us off first, we will live there every year.
The author is David Leonhardt, The Happy Guy, author of The Get Happy Workbook at http://TheHappyGuy.com/happiness-workbook.html and publisher of Your Daily Dose of Happiness at http://TheHappyGuy.com/daily-happiness-free-ezine.html . Visit his web site at http://TheHappyGuy.com .
