You cannot imagine how funky one grown man, one teenager and one shedding chow can make a house.

Upon returning from Nashville, my sister, Robin, who's on her way to Atlanta today, walked in with me and I was mortified. Mortified after just taking the first step inside of my house.

When I met my husband about 20 years ago, he lived in a old rundown cabin in the woods, roughing it. Cooking over the fireplace, getting water from the spring. It was a personal challenge and he loved living that way, after having lived in LA, New York and Atlanta all his life.

He used to be a pretty tidy guy, but now he cleans house the way you would an old rustic cabin. Mop or vaccum? He never had to mop when he had sawdust on the floor, so why should he worry with linoleum? Ditto, the carpet.

He can't be bothered to put away groceries. Well hell, he made it to the kitchen with them, why should I be bitching? When he's forced to wash dishes because they're ALL dirty and scattered throughout the house, all he needs is a little dab of water. Just enough to knock the crust off. Ditto, the laundry.

This is one of those quirky habits you find so damn charming about a spouse before you get married and it later becomes downright irritating. I loved that he could live off the land and grow his food, make furniture and on and on.

I've lived in two different communes so I appreciate a good self reliant man or woman, but you can still learn some housekeeping skills along the way.

I should face facts after 20 years with his endearing quirkiness. My husband is and will probably always be a messy guy.