I don’t know how or why it happened, but all of a sudden I’m a housewife. Well, I’m more of a domestic diva, actually, because you know, I’m not married to my house. But suddenly I’m interested in all that domestic diva stuff, like cooking.
This is a shock to many people—okay it’s really just a shock to my family. They’ve spent years helping me avoid kitchen disasters by keeping me the heck away from open flames and actual food preparation. And yet, a few weeks ago I was suddenly overcome with an urge to take cooking classes. I KNOW. I’m practically standing on the platform waiting to take the train to Stepford.
And that’s not all. I’ve started cleaning too. Seriously. Not like my usual cleaning which basically consists of moving the dust bunnies from one room to another so it looks like maybe I’ve done more than just sit around and play Facebook games all day long.
Take last week for example. I’m in the kitchen while Harry is cooking (ahem, I haven’t actually taken the cooking classes yet so I have to obey the rules of my insurance company and stay away from open flames). Anyway, we’re standing there and Harry—out of nowhere–says, “Gee the cabinets could use a good cleaning.” Now ordinarily I’d pretend to be deaf, which I’m surprisingly good at when it comes to hearing people suggest I clean something. (Don’t be jealous. It’s a skill I’ve honed since birth.)
But you will not believe what I did next. I cleaned the cabinets.
Seriously. I’m quite frightened by this. You see, it never occurred to me to pretend not to hear Harry. Not only that, I nearly killed myself doing it because frankly, I’m not really what you might call a clean freak. So after I scrubbed the cabinets, I squirted Pledge on them and wiped them down. Unfortunately it appears that Pledge has some sort of super squirting power and it went everywhere, including the floor and I slipped on it and nearly broke my tale bone.
Who knew cleaning was so dangerous? Clearly I didn’t, since my aching tushy wasn’t enough to stop me from going on the cleaning spree of a lifetime. When I saw how lovely, albeit dangerous, the kitchen cabinets looked I decided to polish the banister.
Yeah. You can imagine how that worked out. Let’s just say a polished banister, over-sprayed Pledge and a 14-year old running down hardwood stairs with his socks on is NOT a good combination. On the plus side…well, there is no plus side. Except that when you practically break your butt at 14, you can recover a lot faster than you can when you’re, you know, not 14.
But it didn’t stop there. It was almost like I couldn’t help but clean. Harry and I went to OSH and I found this stuff that promises to clean and polish hardwood, so I bought it. Now, normally I don’t polish hardwood. I let my little robotic vacuum run across it a couple times a week and call it a day. But I cleaned and polished the floor. By myself. Without the robot.
And I have to say it looked rather nice. You know, until every child in the dang neighborhood came over and trampled their dang footprints on it. Then it looked exactly the same as it had before.
But here is the really scary part. All those footprints didn’t discourage me. I didn’t take one look at them and think, “Oh hell no. I am so not cleaning and polishing those floors again. It didn’t even last three minutes.” Instead I thought, “Where’s the floor polish?”
Yes, it is frightening. Very, very frightening. If I weren’t me, I’d be convinced I had turned into a Stepford Wife. In fact, I am me and I’m kind of scared I’m a Stepford Wife.
So I did the only thing I could possibly do. I went to Barnes and Noble. I stocked up on chick lit and chocolate. I spent the morning lazing in bed with my Godiva and my funny book and reacquainted myself with the ancient Sontag custom of sloth. And you know what? It worked. I haven’t even charged the little robot vacuum, let alone squirted Pledge anywhere.
And those cooking lessons? Oh yeah. Canceled. I think it’s better this way. Nobody gets hurt by my cooking or my cleaning.Add me to your rss reader | Become a Fan on Facebook!