We are all born with talents – isn’t that what we learn at primary school. We should all celebrate each others gifts and talents. Some of us play instruments, some of us are good at art, public speaking, saying the alphabet backwards. Aged 24 I found out my new one:
I am so bad at housework I now don’t have to do any.
I know. So bad, that I felt it necessary to put that statement into bold and italics.
How? Well it all started a few weeks ago.
“Darling, you haven’t got enough water in the sink” – I think I have, everything can be completely submerged underwater. That’s enough.
“Don’t think that’s enough washing up liquid, is it?” – Well do you want to pay for the next lot of washing up liquid? No, didn’t think so..
“MARY what’s this?! Is this meant to be clean? I can still see at LEAST seven marks on it”
Four words came out of my mouth. Probably in a slightly raised tone, probably with a little more aggression than I speak with on a daily basis.
Do. It. Yourself. Then.
And that was it. No more washing up for me as I just don’t do it properly – apparently.
A couple of weeks later another incident occurred which seemed to annoy myself and the boyfriend on a similar level.
“Darling, don’t think the socks are going to dry on the washing rack if you put them that close together. Do you?” – Deep breaths Mary, it’s a rhetorical question.
“Oh no no, don’t put my t-shirt on like that – it’s going to smell damp” – More deep breaths, slightly quicker but still in control. Maybe throw in a slight giggle to make it seem like your nostrils aren’t flaring.
Two days later..
“MARY my shirt smells damp – it must be the way you hung it up!” – same four words, slightly louder, slightly harsher.
Do. It. Yourself. Then.
By this point I was slightly gutted. I mean, I’ve lived away from home for 6 years and have done my clothes washing and washed dishes in all that time and never had any issues. Why was it in an issue now? Why was I so inapt as housework.
Then I realised this was a blessing.
Now, I get to be the one that sits back and enjoys dinner without having to think about the mess that awaits me afterwards. I can watch the boy get stressed about how the washing rack, which is meant for one persons load of washing, is a nightmare to fit two loads on.
And I laugh, and I smile – until I get a death stare…then I get back to writing my blog.