I have lived with a lot of men in the span of my life.  I would say a conservative estimate is 10, a more accurate estimate is 15, but I'll say 10 to account for memory.  It never ceases to amaze  that all these men save one, I single him out because though I know he will not read this because he is dead I do know he would be offended, being the tidy and fastidious man that he was if he thought I thought of him this way, think that there is a magical place, a black hole of sorts where if a person drops something it disappears forever.  I call that place the floor.  It isn't magical at all.  What they drop remains, I have seen it with my own eyes.

I don't write this to claim tidiness, I didn't acquire that skill from the man I spoke of before.  However, I do like to think that I did learn and acquire his fastidiousness.  Though there is tons of shit laying around on the floor of my abode, with each item I give concerned thought to how it will effect the beautiful little blond creature that lives so near the floor, puts everything in his mouth, and goes by Bucket.