How not to be a domestic goddess
Last night, as I waited for Terry to finish doing the grocery shopping online (they only charged us £5 for last week’s shop after the whole non-delivery debacle, by the way – result!) and make me dinner, it occurred to me that:
a) I am WAY spoiled
b) The whole “being a wife” thing? I totally suck at it sometimes. Really.
You see, although I like to obsess endlessly over the state of the floors, empty Terry’s wastepaper basket as soon as it has ONE PIECE OF PAPER in it (or as soon as Rubin pees in it, whichever comes first), and generally am a bit of an asshole about neatness, I am totally domestically challenged. As in, there are some things I just CANNOT DO, no matter how hard I try. For instance:
Can’t. Won’t. Whatever. Actually, I’m sure I could probably cook if I really wanted to, but it’s just that I… don’t want to. It bores me. Rigid. My mum has a saying about this. The saying is: ”why slave over a hot stove when there are books to read?” This more or less sums it up for me. If it takes more time to prepare it and clean up after it than it does to actually eat it, I just don’t want to know. Also: toast is just fine as a main meal! Really! And so it is that I have managed to reach… the age I am… without ever having cooked more than a handful of “proper” meals in my life. And most of them ended up in the dog, to be honest. Moving on…
2. Cleaning glass
As far as I’m concerned, the art of cleaning glass is one of the great mysteries of the universe. And trust, me, I’ve tried. I’ve Googled it. I’ve done the whole “newspaper and vinegar” thing. I’ve tried every product on the market. My mother has given me glass-cleaning lessons. Terry has given me glass-cleaning lessons. Hell, at this point I wouldn’t be surprised if Rubin was able to give me glass-cleaning lessons, because let’s face it: no one could do this worse than me. Any piece of glass I try to clean ends up looking much, much worse than it did when I started. I have this knack of just spreading the dust around and making a big o’ smeary mess. No, I have no idea how I do it. But I do know that living in a house with lots of mirrors, a glass shower-screen, mirrored wardrobe doors (although when Terry broke three of them I was secretly pleased. And I made him replace them with non-glass doors.), a glass table, glass panelled doors and, er, windows, really takes its toll…
3. Putting the duvet into the duvet bag
HOW?! How is this to be done? And again, I have Googled it! I have had lessons from people who actually know how to do it! And yet, every time I try, I end up inside the duvet bag, howling with rage. When I was in university, in halls, they used to make us change our duvet covers every couple of days, and my friend Stephanie used to have to come and do mine for me. Now Terry has to do it. Because I suck, clearly.
4. Cleaning up vomit
Now, clearly this is something a lot of people dislike, but a couple of weeks ago Rubin ate something he found out on his walk (some of the local Banditos throw stuff out for the birds, like bacon sandwiches and mouldy pizzas and stuff. Which is stupid, because seriously, how often do you see birds calling out for a pizza delivery?) and threw up a few times. And every single time, even although I was worried about him, I had to get up and run from the room instantly, gagging all the way, and leaving Terry to clean up the mess. I know this isn’t really a “domestic” thing as such, but it is one of the many reasons I know not having children is the right decision for me…
In my defence, though, I am really good at ironing.
How about you? Domestically challenged or domestic goddess?