Blame it on My Mom

A few weeks ago I was frantically trying to get my taxes filed...I mean we are talking looking for receipts under the bed, in the pockets of jackets I hadn't worn in a year, opening up mail that was dated sometime in 2004. Let's face it, I am an organizational nightmare...my idea of filing is moving papers from one pile to another. Its pathetic really. So I started thinking about how I got this way...why on earth am I so unorganized? And as I was looking for bank statements from 2004 and calling the bank a day before I needed them and filing my returns at 11:59 p.m. on the last possible day to file...the answer came to me...just blame it on my mom. I mean this is the woman who would just close the door to my disaster of a bedroom when I was a kid....presumably on the theory of what she can't see, she is not responsible for. I never had to clean my room as a kid...my mom never made me. And this is why I am an unorganized adult. I call my mom and tell her this. And she very gracefully accepts the blame of not making me clean my room as the reason for my current state of disorganization or maybe she was just closing the door.