Cass vs. the Insurmountable

The knock is confident. Three raps at the door. She’s early and I’ve just had to rush to get Monty, my big Golden Retriever Newfoundland mix, into his crate, tucked safely and quietly in my bedroom. He loves strangers, but he loves them a little too much. Everyone’s his New Best Friend! 

I run to the door, and yank it open just as she’s about to knock again. “Hi! Mallory? Cass! How are you doing?” blasts me right in the face. 

“Hi. Good…” 

“It’s so dreary out,” she cuts me off. “It’s definitely a good day to stay inside and tackle this project! People ask for help organizing their hobbies all the time, but I’m excited to work with someone who actually makes a LIVING from theirs! I totally trolled your Insta account. You’re such a talented crochet artist. I’m really impressed!”

I’m barely able to focus on what she’s saying. She’s talking so quickly and she’s so damn cheery! Why is she so cheery? And bubbly? And BLONDE? Is that her natural colour? It doesn’t look like it. Everything about her screams HGTV. She’s come here to do manual labour and her nails are perfect. Are those gels? They must be. My god, she’s even wearing false eyelashes. For whom? Me? WHY?

“Look, I like to just jump in.” No kidding, I think. 

“You’re okay with that?” I give a slight tilt of my head, not fully ready to commit to her.

“Great! First, I know you want to work on a specific area of your apartment, but I really like to take a tour of the whole home to start. It gives me a better sense of you and your needs. Lead the way.”

I tour her through my apartment, all 900 square feet. I start in the most obvious place - my living/dining room area. I’m proud of this space. It’s comfortable and full of things I love like this tooled and gold-leafed leather table that my parents got when I was a kid and the first blanket I crocheted, full of flaws, but perfect... Next, the kitchen, totally functional if a tad cluttered. 

“I like your use of the chrome shelves. When someone rents and is limited by space, it’s smart to add storage where you can. See! You have this in you!”

“Oh. Thanks.” I’m surprised by the compliment. I mean, when I put the shelves together, I did post a picture on Instagram. I was quite proud of how they looked and got some compliments from friends. It’s nice to know strangers like it too!

We move down the hallway and she opens my closet doors. She doesn’t ask. 

“I know they need work,” I inform her.

“Oh! No! They’re actually pretty good! Especially this one. All of your power tools are perfectly organized. Quite the collection. Wait! Is that a hammer drill? Totally badass! We’re going to get along, I can tell!”

As we get to the bedrooms I hear snuffling. Why do I hear snuffling? And there’s a distinct lack of light peeping through the bottom of my bedroom door. And I’m fairly confident that’s fur. Knowing that there is a very excited puppy on the other side I gingerly open the door, “I hope you like dogs.”

“PUPPY!!!” perforates from behind me and before I can yell “NO! OFF!” she’s sitting in my desk chair, draped in 112 pounds of fluff and drool. I guess she’s a fan. Monty attacks her face with kisses, messing up her careful contour. Sadie doesn’t care. 

“Ohmigawd he’s the cutest! What’s your name. You look like Darla. Have you watched The Little Rascals? Ugh. So CUTE!”

“Monty. His name is Monty.” 

“MONTY! I misgendered you. So sorry. Ugh. Too cute.” Monty’s front half is draped over her, head buried in her arms while she ravages his flanks with scratches. He’s in ecstasy. “I like this room. It feels… comfortable. Please don’t put him back in the crate! I love having a furry buddy when I work!” 

Monty looks me dead in the eyes, his face clearly says, She said “No crate”. I guess they win.

“So, this is the room.” I open the door and brace myself for her reaction. It’s packed with yarn, tools, furniture, and all the random bits that don’t have a home in my home. I brace for her reaction. Awe. She’s in… awe? She looks like I just gave her the keys to Disney World. This a woman who sure loves her clutter. Monty, he’s hanging out just beyond the door, still as can be. In this room, more than a few things have fallen on him, and he’s not prepared to risk a random yarn attack today. Smart dog.  

“Wow,” she whispers. “There’s so much colour in here. So much life! But I can see what you mean when you say you’re overwhelmed. Don’t worry. We’ve got this. Right Monty?” 

“Humph.” Talk about moral support. My own dog doesn’t even have faith in me. 

And then she’s off, “First, we’re going to get rid of everything you don’t need or want. We’ll make three piles. ‘Keep’, ‘Toss’, and ‘Donate’. Then we can...” 

I stop listening. Those are the three “Piles” they use on Hoarders. I’m not a “hoarder”. There aren’t mountains of ancient newspapers piled in my hallway. There aren’t any dead animals lurking under piles of clothes. I sleep in my bed. My kitchen is clean and functional! I needed Mari Kondo and I ended up with an intervention? Is my sister going to suddenly appear and unload three decades of animosity on me? What the hell?! Okay. Breathe. She’s here to help. She’s not your enemy. There is no A&E camera crew dangling a boom mic over your head. 

Breathe. You hired her for a reason. Granted it was after you tripped and fell over that pile of t-shirt yarn and, while you weren’t hurt, the gallon of paint that somehow dropped from that shelf nearly did hit your head, and panic hiring someone off of Instagram at three in the morning is a sure sign that you know what must be done, right? Right! 

My ears turn back on “...keeping things that are useful, functional, etc. I see you have a lot of supplies for various activities.” She stops. She takes in my body language. This is the first time she’s really looked at me. She clearly sees I’m on edge. Suddenly her entire demeanour changes, even the tenor of her voice... I swear it drops an octave. All of a sudden she’s turning into a meditation guide from the Calm app. She’s practiced this. “Hey, why don’t we have a cup of tea and make a list of the different categories of your hobbies, that way we can focus on keeping things. Sound good?” Her voice is now downright husky.

“Yes!” I gasp. I launch myself down the hall, Monty shuffling behind me. Into the kitchen, I go. This I can focus on. This I can control. The water. The kettle. The cups. “English Breakfast okay?”

“Yes! Perfect!” Up two octaves, but I can see she’s caught herself, down two octaves, “with milk and sugar if you have it.”

Tea successfully brewed and in our mugs, we sit on the sofa. She’s armed with a small teal notebook. The cover is a beautiful print, made of hard cardboard. It looks expensive. Given how much I’m paying this woman to upend my home, it damn well better be. 

“We’re going to make a list of your hobbies to help us focus. What are ALL your hobbies, in no particular order of importance?”

I quickly rattle off “Crochet, beading, needle embroidery, punch needle embroidery, tambour beading, loom beading, weaving, wood burning, and general crafting.”

“Totally manageable!” Up an octave. “I once had a client who had a bug collection he needed sorting. He failed to tell me that they were all alive, more or less, and that he also had lizards, and snakes, etc. It’s the only client I’ve not been able to assist since I don’t ‘do’ living things.”

“More or less?”

“This is a great list!” Apparently, we’re moving on from that. Down an octave. “Let’s start with these things. I have a pile of Rubbermaid tubs in my car. We’re going to label them, and everything for a particular hobby will go in that box.”

“But the yarn…”

“Oh, yes. Don’t worry! I have dozens of tubs!”

And she’s there for hours. I had paid for two 2-hour sessions but she never leaves. We plug away, Monty keeping guard, kettle on alert. We sort: keep, toss, and donate. With each step, I can feel my confidence building. I find piles of items I’d long forgotten about, plans I made but never followed through on. When I note that she’s stayed for far longer than I’ve paid for, she shrugs, “I’m enjoying myself!” She’s utterly serene. Down one octave.