Asking a Favor

As usual, I made extra work for myself.  A little outing with a couple of friends has been planned for this morning.  We are going to meet at a Park & Ride; then car-pool the rest of the way to our destination.  When we arrive at aforementioned destination, we will have fun.  Fine—nothing wrong with the plan so far.  But then, when we were confirming our plans a few minutes ago, I apparently felt the need to open my big mouth and ask a favor of one of the ladies.   “So you asked a little favor—what’s the big deal?” you might be asking.  Well,  the problem is doing the “favor” would require that she come back to the house after our little excursion.  Now imagine you have a satellite view of the northeastern U.S.  Now you’re zooming toward upstate NY.  We’re picking up speed as we hurtle toward the earth.  Now we’re above a modest colonial-style house, hang on!   We’re going in through the roof!  We're in! Aaaaaaaaaahhhhh!  What happened in this home?  The sight of dust, fingerprints, half-chewed dog toys, untrimmed dining room windows, mirrors that have almost lost their reflective properties (due to the water spots and hair products splattered on their surfaces) assaults our eyes!  Then there are the piles of women’s magazines—they’re going to get read sooner or later, really.  Wait--what’s going on in this laundry room?  A tube of calk (in the gun), a box of nails, a big chisel—why are these things lying on top of the dryer?  Oh yeah, it’s those untrimmed dining room windows.  That’s why there’s a pile of casement sitting on top of the dining room table, along with a level, drill, screw driver, shims, and needle-nosed pliers.  There’s also a most pathetic looking orchid—a mother’s day gift from son #2.  It was beautiful for a while—that was when it had flowers on it.  Now it’s just sitting in the middle of the table, still in its decorative box-- fluffy green tissue paper spilling over the edges—one skinny, dark green stalk standing naked in the middle.  I was trying to figure out what to do with the poor little plant….And let’s not even begin to discuss the office/Grandma’s guest room (Its real name should be The-Things-That-Are-Important [to me anyway]- But-Can’t- Be-Used-Right-Now-And-There’s- No-Where-Else-To-Put-Them Room.  Catchy title, I know.) 

Anyway—here I am under the gun to whip this place into shape in less than an hour, and I’m writing about it—any clues as to why the house is in this deplorable condition?