My office reached the point of pigsty a few months back. I should keep it neat but I'm a failure in the tidiness department, and always have been.

I theorize this is because my mother was a cleaning fanatic when we were kids. My psyche had to rebel somehow.

It was only after my husband's dog walked into my office this morning and barfed a Downy Dryer Sheet onto a stack of (fortunately) unimportant papers, that I conceded the need to do some spring cleaning.

Housecleaning gives me a rash. I would much rather go to the dentist.

So what if my stack of clean clothes stays at the foot of the bed until they are all used up. I could put them in the dresser but it would be a pointless exercise in futility.

I'd just have to take them back out in a day or two.

I used to be a closeted slob, never admitting to anyone just what a muddy piglet I was. I would only clean if I knew company was coming. Otherwise it was 'let the chips fall where they may' (sometimes literally, but that's another story).

In my single days I lived in a little cottage in the middle of 15 acres of forest. At times it was tidy. Other times it looked like someone had picked up the building and given it a good shake.

On one of those 'shaken not stirred' days I was awoken at 4:45 a.m. by the sound of two El Dorado County Sheriff's Deputies banging on my front door with their flashlights. The actions that led to their presence on my door step are unclear. I either slept walked across my house, dialed 911, and then walked back to bed -- or there was a glitch in the phone line.

Either way, a 911 call originated from my phone number resulting in two Deputies on my porch.

After being rousted from a very sound sleep and listening to the Deputies explain why they were there, they asked to come in to check things out. Explaining I hadn't called, I attempted to convince them everything was fine. But doing their jobs to ensure the safety of good citizens like myself, they said they needed to inspect the premises.

Right.

As they walked around the tiny cottage, gingerly stepping over stacks of paper, piles of clothes - both clean and dirty, newspapers, books, magazines, and cats, they kept asking if I was safe.

"Oh, I get it," I yawned, "you think someone threw all this stuff around roughing me up while looking for jewels."

They stared at me.

"No. I'm the only one here. I'm just a slob."

I explained my theory that if anyone broke into my house, they would have to put my stuff back into the drawers to find anything. It would actually be a blessing in disguise.

They didn't laugh - but I knew I was giving them something to talk.