I may not be, or have been, the cleanest person in the world and I am far from anal-retentive but I have tried my best to be closer to godliness and have made myself a schedule: Every Tuesday is “cleaning day”. I get my Suzie homemaker apron on and tie a bandana around my head and
- GO
- TO
- TOWN.
Windexing counters, cloroxing cabinets, and scrubbing metal pots and pans all day even.
But why is it (oh why oh why is it???) that my house can never STAY CLEAN for at least one whole day. For goodness sake, I was out Christmas shopping all day today and yet it was still capable of being turned upside down the four hours I was away and not one person was home. Not one! Just the dogs. Yet, miraculously, somehow they were able to grab Christmas stockings and tear them to shreds, Santa poof and all, spreading the evil inner stuffing face fuzz all over the wool carpets. Just when I thought the battle could have been over.
I spent the rest of the afternoon picking out and vacuuming stubborn cloud like bunnies and rebel lint balls galore.
And now I’m tired. I’m absolutely sick and tired of cleaning up after every one – even myself.
I’m at the point where I would desperately just like to endure my old godforsaken “9 to nowhere” job that I obliviously enjoyed before this whole marriage pushed me into the direction of the maid my husband always wanted.
Argh! Sometimes I wonder if this is genuine and divine karma for all the times my mother asked me nicely to clean my room and I never did.
The laundry buzzer rings…<–>
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