Embarrassing?

I am now living in what is probably the cleanest house in Malta. How my friend does it, I've no clue. She's like a hurricane, she just does her thing and hey presto my house is bling bling material. Honestly you could eat off the damn floors. And my mum is pissed because she thinks that I should never let anybody see the clutter (as in enormous, huge, gigantic) I accumulate in one week. The thing is I'm not even embarrassed about it. My kitchen table doubles up as a very big make up parlour. My sitting room is home to all jewellery. I have a room just for shoes. Is that so embarrassing? Well, sometimes. Sometimes I find myself closing the kitchen door so that nobody can see inside, which is silly since my kitchen door has glass panelling. But I have never understood how anybody can apply proper make up in bathrooms, the only rooms without airconditioning. I'd have make up running off my face and into the sink in no time at all. It's so comfortable in the kitchen with a x10 magnifying mirror and air conditioning directly on my face. So I do whatever works for me. Should I be embarrassed about it? Perhaps, but I ain't. It's not as if I've got rubbers strewn all over. The only thing made of rubber in my house are rubber elastic hairbands, not really something to gt embarrassed about. Plenty of women with long hair will understand. Plenty of men won't, but then what the hell. They say your house is your castle. Well, mine is too, except that right now it's a very clean castle. And somehow that's odd because castles are meant to have cobwebs and dust. Roll on next week.