I am a poor excuse for a housewife, as my husband can attest. Above and beyond the aforementioned clutter issue, I often leave loads of damp laundry in the washing machine until they molder and smell like sweaty troll feet, mounds of unfolded clothes crumpled in the dryer or in laundry baskets randomly dotting the landscape of our household for days on end, and piles of filthy dishes marinating in the sink simply because I hate nothing more than emptying the dishwasher (OH, THE UNBEARABLE AGONY). There is visible mold and mildew on the upstairs bathtub shower curtain. There’s cat litter tracked throughout our basement where the wretched litter boxes (yes, PLURAL) dwell, cat-sized petri dishes growing god knows what. It isn’t laziness exactly, but more like studied inaction-as-protest in response to the scourge of filth relentlessly encroaching on our living space. I mean, I clean something, and then a week later IT NEEDS TO BE CLEANED AGAIN. Will this hideous nightmare never end?
Of course there’s more to the story than just rumpled laundry and a few dirty dishes. So in the spirit of full disclosure and unburdening myself of my sins, here’s a short list of things housekeeping-wise that I do not do, EVER:
1. Wash baseboards or door/window trim (I mean, C’MON!)
2. Clean behind the toilet (eww!)
3. Vacuum under area rugs or furniture (I don’t even want to know what might be living under our couch at this point)
4. Dust anything located above eye-level (out of sight, out of mind, dude!)
5. Clean lightswitches or doorknobs (which are both likely festering with Bubonic Plague at this point, come to think of it)
And so on. Mine is a housewifery of least resistance without a doubt, and while I’m not always proud of the results of that stance, I’m owning it, man. We all have our dirty little housekeeping secrets: our rat’s nest-like junk drawers and dank, wretched basements, our closets packed with crap near to the point of involuntarily bursting open like a misfired gag can of peanuts stuffed with spring-coiled snakes.
[tiny voice:] Umm, don’t we?
(This is your cue to jump in with the making-me-feel-better Me Too!-ing. Better yet, tell me truthfully: what is your dirty little household secret? I promise I won’t tell anyone… heh.)
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Having said all that, my domestic failures and inadequacies haven’t stopped me from contributing to this fall home shopping guide from JCPenney (or Jacques Pennay, if you’re a complete flaming dork like me). True, I’m contractually obligated in blood to do so. But wholesale bartering of my soul aside, I like to think that my contributions there over the next two months will present something like the inept everywoman’s perspective on the home (my first post, on the subject House Porn, can be found here). Like if Martha Stewart were a mouthy aging ex-punk rocker tightwad. IT’S A GOOD, CHEAP THING, MUTHAFUCKAS!
And in other, somewhat-related-to-blogging-and-commerce news, it looks as though this as yet unnamed Big Book O’ Mommybloggers I have some stuff in will, in fact, be published. Like, on actual paper and stuff. Which would make me an author or something? Maybe? Definitely waaaay weird, but stranger things have happened I s’pose (like errm this, for example (shudder)).
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Today’s Fish-That-Wouldn’t-Die Update: Still undead living! On the advice of the all-knowing internet, I am now withholding food (as a possible cure, not for the purposes of assisted suicide-type starvation). Must be increasingly vigilant in keeping the fish away from my daughter’s braaaaaains: as the hunger mounts, so does THE EEEEVIL.
Tags: blogging, home, housekeeping, humor, life, mylife, personal, women
