"Why are you wearing a tux?  It's after six, what am I, a farmer?"

This is my female-Jack Donaghy perfect home.  The house that I live in when I dine daily in glittering ballroom gowns and wake up every morning to a flawless, milky complexion.  I'm able to arrange fresh cut flowers for every surface and admire the way light twinkles off of the crystal chandeliers that dangle in every single room (including the nursery and fanciest den I've ever seen).  Not a drop of juice / red wine would be spilled on the creamy carpet and upholstery.  The rugs and lawn would be vacuumed and trimmed in perfect diagonal stripes.

I absolutely wouldn't be the woman who has spent this weekend collecting balled up used tissues, cooking impromptu meals at 9 pm and bumming around in elastic waistband pants whilst watching six hours of playoff football on Sunday.  I wouldn't be using my dining room table to collect a month's accumulation of mail and three silently glowing laptops.  Nope, not that woman.