I love America’s Funniest Home Videos, but not for the same reasons my kids do. They like to watch big people fall down go boom. I like to see the inside of real people’s houses all across the country. I’m watching the edges of the screen, noticing the huge pile of magazines in the corner, the dirty glasses on the coffee table, the rips in the carpet. We are a nation of slobs, and that makes me feel a whole lot better about myself.

In an earlier blog post about casting the evil eye, I mentioned the line of strong Sicilian women from whom I descend. Above all else, these women judged each other by the cleanliness of their houses. And I’m afraid they would judge me quite poorly. Maybe on the level of trailer trash. I don’t know how to say that in Italian.

My great grandmother, whom everyone called Nonnie, would sweep the dirt in front of her house. She raised my mother, who never did any dirt sweeping as far as I know, but always goes into a cleaning frenzy before having anyone over for a visit. Now so do I, except I have dug myself into a much deeper hole, so my cleaning fits are even more frenetic. Also, lots of stuff gets stuffed into places where it doesn’t belong, so I get accused for everything that goes missing.

Why do I worry so much about how my house looks? It’s like my dirty little secret. I have the outward appearance of a professional career woman, but deep down I’m just a really crappy housewife.

I want to write more about this, but the family will be over in a few hours. I need to go sweep the dirt.