File this. Where, you ask? Try “Messy” or “Disorganized” or “Clerical Nightmare.” I don’t know. I’m not a Natural Born Filer. Maybe that explains why the filing system for my home office consists of shuffling papers from one pile to another, back and forth until the document I am actually looking for presents itself or my eyes cross and I faint, whichever comes first. Granted, this is almost entirely irrelevant because the only “documents” I ever go looking for are either near expired pizza coupons or near expired pieces of pizza buried beneath horrible totem poles made of bills and receipts. But there is the odd occasion when I really need to get a hold of my birth certificate or fake pilot’s license, which, by the way, has gotten me out of more than a few jams with the National Guard. Now, I’m not the kind of guy who is quick to lay blame on others, but IT’S ALL WIFE’S FAULT. If she would only be more diligent about keeping me in line and making sure I’m not leaving messes everywhere, all the time, perhaps I would be able to establish a clear and concise filing system. But nooooooooooo. Due to HER refusal to constantly nag me about putting things back where they belong, I’m a complete and total slob. Thanks a lot, Wife. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to dive headfirst into this wading pool of manilla folders. I could have sworn I saw some candy at the bottom.