A massive collage of laundry decorates the floor.

Pushing through the cloth jungle, I can barely open the door.

Nike, Adidas, Doc Martin shoes, make me trip and land horridly, leaving a fat bruise.

I spy nine empty cups, and 2 full ones too.

I’m sure she just waited to too long for her tea to brew.

Her drawers are ajar and her bed is not made.

There are two dying plants probably lacking water for a decade.

I love her so much, and she is someone I could never live without.

But my daughter has the worst cleaning habits, and that is no doubt.