Don't Judge Me

Look, I'm close to moving. My place is disgusting right now, i haven't had time to clean and i'm in the middle of packing and pulling everything out of my closets and cabinets. Old shampoo bottles, my super-size q-tip container, cleaning supplies, old clothes, boxes, old computer stuff, etc. Everything is in plain sight. Everything.

Wait...is there somebody tapping on my door? What day is it? Oh fuck, they're showing my place today. Oops. Besides the fact that my place is gross, I'm listening to hip hop, watching the chapelle show where wayne brady was saying "am i gonna have to choke a bitch?". Great. And so as they walk in and we exchange embarrassed glances, I apologize for how messy it is. And I tidy up as they're walking around. Then I remember the mess upstairs. As they continue talking about the fixtures, trying to ignore the multitude of carry-out containers and mail all over the floor, I run upstairs. But they were done with downstairs and were right behind me. I throw my underwear into the closet, get my clothes from last night's indescretions into the hamper, and close my closet doors. But then I see it. Panic. They look at me, and then their eyes move to where i'm looking. Old lube and a Sam's club size box of old condoms. Shit. There was no humor in their eyes, mostly disappointment. Not even the faintest hint of interest even. Probably it was the dust on the box. Is there any way I'm gonna leave with any piece of dignity. Nope. Not a chance.