I confess to being housework shy. Just a tick above slob but a long way down from proud housewife. Scrap that I was never a housewife ever. Now that I'm almost old, my eyes don't see the dust until a whirlwind moves it.
This cleaning up rubbish is for young people who can handle it. I have so many bruises and pains including sticking a pin through the ball of my hand and belting my head on the corner of the hand basin in the bathroom. A million times I must have told the kid to watch the corner but I had to bash it. There's something creepy about a house that's clean and tidy when it usually isn't, it's like I've gone away when I'm still here.
The only reason I've vacuumed the floor is so they can lounge around on it without crushing the wildlife in the carpet ecosystem. It's a shame the filligree hamster hasn't been spotted again, they'd have enjoyed that.
I've had the guilts all day because I didn't go to mother's. This is how you get sucked into the vortex of guiltguiltguilt. I should be able to stay home when it's blowing a gale. I should be able to be excited about the girls but because somebody is snivelling, I can't quite get there. I can't help it that she doesn't know it's Monday because I didn't go. She didn't know if I'd been there anyway. She had to ask the BrickOutHouse.
She's having a bit of trouble with the MealsOnWheels. They sent her salads twice last week and "it's just not good enough" but I know exactly what she's done. She's read Roast, hasn't gone any further and ticked the box so received a roast vegetable salad and a roast chicken salad. And it's my fault because I didn't check what she ticked. Give me strength.
This week her regular cleaner can't make it so she's getting a substitute and she'd like me to give the house a once over before a stranger comes. FFS the bloody woman's coming to clean the house not photograph it for Gracious Living.
I swear there's not a jury of daughters that would convict me.