Another Fine Mess

The minute I hung up the phone, I broke out in hives. One hive, actually, right on my face, which was already bright red with shame and embarrassment. How could I have forgotten an important appointment—again? This was the third time in as many months that I had completely overlooked an event, and this was by far the worst: I’d been invited, along with the publisher of the Herald-Tribune and another major media peer, as a special guest at an intimate luncheon for a not-for-profit.

I looked around my office—no wonder I had forgotten to show up! I was living in a total mess. My desk was practically seething with papers, magazines, coffee cups, the empty salad container from my hurried lunch and personal mementos, from photographs and Michigan rocks to a little wrought-iron pink flamingo. The bookshelves didn’t look any better, crammed with unread books sent by publicists, old magazines, and boxes full of ancient resumes, contest entries and stuff I’d stored here during my recent home renovation.

On the other side of the room, senior editor Bob Plunket’s desk was also piled high. Some of his papers had even migrated to our little conference table, which was also the site of our new favorite possession: a 1970s vintage plastic yellow-and-orange dollhouse, made in Japan and equipped with everything from period hi-fi and speakers to a mid-century modern red sectional sofa.

 “I think I’ve just reached bottom,” I told Bob. “I’m calling a professional organizer.”

 “Fine,” he said. “Just keep her away from my desk—and the dollhouse.”