We own things but have hidden them

There's a Strange Planet comic where two characters have friends over. "Your home is beautiful," the friends say. "Thank you," the characters say. Then confess, "We own things but have hidden them." My friends came to stay and despite having joked with them about this exact phenomenon many times, I still did the thing. I shoved excess shoes into the spare room and papers into the nearest drawer. And so on. Soon I'll wonder where that stuff is and when I find it in random places I'll be confused. Everyone knows we all have things. They aren't bad things. Just stuff. And we hide it. In an effort to look nonchalant sometimes I even leave some stuff - stray pens, leaning towers of books, one of my many ice packs - to suggest I didn't tidy up. There's a spectrum - people who visit weekly or more get a different, more laidback, natural experience. Then there's my mother-in-law on the most extreme end of the spectrum. For the panic at the extreme end my wife is no help whatsoever. And it's…