Tuesday, 26 February 2013
I was cleaning the oven the other day - a job I hate with a passion. I put it off and put it off and put it off, until it begins to become a daily obsession of avoidance. We spend a week or so eating dinners which can be cooked on the hob simply so that I can delay it just a bit longer. (Because once the spills get baked on enough in there, it makes your eyes sting when you heat it up…)
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not a slob. If you dropped by un-announced you won’t find anything too scary - there might be a pile of dirty washing on the kitchen floor, but at least it’s en-route to the washing machine and just waiting it’s turn for the spin cycle to end… You might not be able to see your face in the bathroom taps, but at least there won’t be any old plasters on the edge of the sink. If the dog is up to date with his haircut you probably won’t even see black fluff all over the carpet. No, my house, overall, isn’t bad. It’s quite respectable. (Most of the time.)
So while I was facing up to my demons and cleaning the oven, I was daydreaming about being rich enough to afford “staff”. Or even just “a woman who does” as they used to say. It was a friend who planted the seed in my head - it’s her birthday soon, and we were joking about wanting the “gift of not having to do housework”. But to be honest, while the idea might be lovely I’m not really sure I would want a domestic engineer in my life. It would be much too weird - on every level. Someone washing my knickers? No thanks! Someone cleaning my toilet? No! I’d even struggle taking my car to one of those valeting places that seem to be springing up in every Tesco car park. My car isn’t a festering pit, but then neither is it on first name terms with a Dust Buster. I do give the floor mats a good shake out every now and then though. But don’t put your hands in the cubby holes in the doors - you’re likely to come out with a fluffy half-sucked mint or a lolly stick stuck to you.
There are certain chores I could maybe farm out without too much problem. The hoovering and general dusting maybe. Floor mopping. Erm… struggling now. Oh, ironing I guess. But then Murray does that most weeks anyway so I wouldn’t really be gaining anything.
Anyway, maybe it’s just as well I’m not so wealthy I can afford to eat chocolates out of a heart shaped box while telling the cleaner I need them to de-fluff the under bed areas - I'm not sure that's really me to be honest (tad too much of a control freak). My oven is sparkling now by the way and your eyes will stay pain-free if you ever pop round while I’m in the middle of a roast. But come soon to get the benefit.
Which housework jobs do you absolutely hate?