I've never been very good at keeping my home tidy, but now that I spend most of my time at Marcus's place, I'm far worse. I tend to use my own home as a closet, a laundry. I chuck my bag down, do some washing, then fill a bag with more clothes and I'm off again. On the rare occasion that Marcus spends an evening at mine, I have a quick tidy-up, but only a very quick one. We'll have a meal, and a bottle of wine - or two - and I'll add the empty bottles to the growing pile in the corner.
This morning, I was stricken with guilt. The cleaner was due to come round, and I felt horribly embarrassed about all the bottles. She might think I'm an alcoholic! I was running late for work, but I gathered them all up and hauled them off to the recycling bins around the corner.
I gaily chucked the bottles in, enjoying the satisfying clunk as they hit the pile, or the even more satisfying shatter. But, goddamnit, one of the bottles still had some wine left in [how unlike me] and it poured all down my arm, wetting my side. Thankfully it was white wine, so it didn't stain, and I figured I wouldn't need to go home and change.
But it was old wine, rotten wine, deeply, horribly smelly wine. I didn't realise just how smelly till I got into work. What will they think of me? They must think I've been drinking all night. No change there, then!