I'm a Super Snoopy Snooper!

Would you like to see what’s in someone medicine cabinet or underwear drawer if you knew you wouldn't get caught? Are you curious? When you enter someone’s home for the first time, does it look the way you pictured it to be, or is it completely different from your expectations? Ever meet that person who looks completely put together—perfect hair, designer clothes—only to find that their apartment is a disaster? Who knew?

So what does your stuff say about you? You’d be surprised. Your stuff says more than you think.

Today, Alison Pearce is holding a SUPER SNOOPER BLOGFEST. It’s a day to open up the drawers and closets of one of our characters, and give you a quick peek inside. Just by describing their belongings and nothing else, you’ll learn about the character—their likes, their dislikes, their quirks and habits.

Here’s my entry. What do you think you know about my character?:

Just a typical “NoTell Motel” with its two double beds separated by a wooden nightstand, a TV, a microwave, and a mini fridge, which contains hotdogs, yogurt and beer swiped from a unlucky neighbor. Seventies décor dots the bedding, the walls, and furniture despite the fact it is 1991. But for the price, there are no complaints.

Microwave dinner boxes overflow the metal trash can—chicken nuggets or mac and cheese with pudding on the side. A near empty ketchup bottle, turned upside down, sits near the coffee pot next to a stack of restaurant packaged saltine crackers. Nothing wasted. Dirty clothes litter the floor. Clean clothes, washed in the tub, drape across the backs of chairs and over the bathroom door to dry.

Shoved under the bed, the stupid motel issued Bible.Useless.  

On the dresser, next to the TV, where the sounds of Bugs Bunny come through the crackled speakers, a porcelain music box tinkles out a metallic tune. An old baseball mitt lays discarded on the foot of the bed, hardly used, but full of potential. A checkers game covers most of the tiny table next to the window. The music box, the baseball mitt, the checkers game, all thrift store finds. A splurge hardly afforded.

Practically brand new, a Cincinnati ‘s Red baseball cap is thrown in a corner. Inside, with the drapes closed, there’s no point in wearing it. But outside, in the open,  it’s a must.

A box of opened Tampons, in the top dresser drawer, sits in contrast to the boys jeans, boys
t-shirts, and boys underwear found along side it—the only hint a girl lives here at all.

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