I am reminded of how much of a dump my house is every time my friends come over for movie night and have to maneuver themselves through piles of old newspaper and crawl over the dead beanbag chair in order to get a decent seat.


I am reminded of the much needed repairs every time one of my friends think twice before walking up the steps of my deck or when they stare quizzically at my rusted faucet, their expressions tinted with actual fright when I tell them, “Just wait a few seconds until the water becomes clear before pouring yourself a cup.”


I am reminded of my lack of new clothes when my friends need to borrow a pair of pants and they sift through my whole wardrobe before reluctantly settling for the pair with the least amount of holes.


And I am reminded of my remarkable choice in friends every time someone asks, “Who’s house will it be tonight?” and someone else answers, “Angie’s. Angie definitely has the best house.”