Domesticate Me

I have never been the sort of woman who felt like "housewife" or "homemaker" was an appropriate title for me. It is chauvinistic and degrading. Plus I am neither of those things. True, I am a wife and mother. I'd like to think I am pretty decent in those roles. My kids just both scored perfect report cards (Toot! Toot!...I am tooting my own sassy horn here. Bite me if you think I'm bragging. I am.). They are involved in plenty of activities which require my transportation skills to get them to and fro. I manage to clothe, them, feed them, and bathe them (or at least stand outside the shower for about 10 minutes so I assume SOME cleaning is going on it there). I try to instill decent values. I go by the "do as I say, not as I do" virtue. I curse in fluent profanity the way some artists work with oil pants or clay. I am a master. (Stolen from "A Christmas Story"..) My kids know enough not to say "mother fuck" or "son of a bitch old lady drivers" when they get to school. At least I assume this by a lack of phone calls from their principal.

A housewife is a woman who tends to the house. I will tend to my children, my husband, and my pets. I can't make any promises to my house. Or the plants, because I have an amazing knack for killing every green thing that is planted in a pot within 2 miles of me. There are certain housely (not a word but bear with me here..) duties I will suck it up and do because otherwise my surroundings would look like even more of a shit bomb just went off.

I enjoy vacuuming because there is instant gratification involved with little work. I can remain upright and not suffer scrubbing anything on my knees. I do not mind doing laundry. I detest putting laundry away, however. Is that weird? Seriously, I will let 4 feet of my husband's clean laundry sit for weeks. I fucking loathe putting it away. I think I am certifiably allergic to it in fact. I don't mind sweeping. The dustpan part kind of sucks but not as much as putting undies and socks away.

Dusting is retarded and inane. Whether you use Pledge and a rag, a feather duster, the Swiffer, or stick a broom handle up your cat's ass, dusting blows monkey schween. You are simply shifting those God damn dust particles around. Then guess what? They settle right the fuck back down WHERE YOU JUST DUSTED!!!!! Screw dusting.

To me mopping seems archaic. Like if I got out a mop I would need a pretty dress. a coordinating apron, pumps, perfect red lipstick, and a birth certificate from 1940. I will get out my Swiffer Wet Jet when I see visible salt and dirt from winter boots or shit skids from my dog Pierre who has become a turd connoisseur. He is very cute and you might say it's sick and wrong but if you were a dog, trust me, you would eat your own shit. I guess it's like scratching your balls or picking your nose. Not really socially acceptable but lots of people do it.

Bathrooms can wait. I will clean the toilet and sink in the main bathroom everyone uses. Thank God for that spray that makes you high as a kite but magically dissolves all the soap scum and mildew from your glass shower doors and tiles. I do not care that it is terrible for the environment. It makes my life easy. I am all about my selfish conveniences. What's more important here?

My stove top is the bane of my existence. I try to wipe up after cooking, another skill I don't enjoy much. But the tiniest speck of sauce or grease will turn my ceramic burner grates into a shellac fortress of molasses. It never comes off. And it looks like shit. So there's ANOTHER reason I try to avoid cooking. Because my burners now look like Pierre shit all over them. (He's crafty when it comes to a piece of deli turkey but he can't jump THAT high.)

I try to get a decent meal on the table when we are all home together. If I invite you to my home I will most likely apologize for the state of mess. Don't you DARE attempt to open my laundry room door if we're having a party. This is my Stash and Dash Zone. You will be pelted with toys headed to Goodwill, my Spot Bot carpet cleaner, clean and dirty laundry, and probably an array of pet food, guinea pig hay, and rawhide chew toys. Hey, at least I make an attempt to pull it together.

No matter how hard I try or how many drunken New Year's Eve resolutions I make, I will always have piles and piles of school papers I can never seem to sort or toss. I will have laundry mountains. Pretty soon I will need repelling gear to locate clean matching socks in that fucking pile. There will always be 27 pairs of shoes in my front hallway. There will be cat vomit I have not cleaned because my 2 kitties are nervous, bulimic felines. There might be errant Christmas decorations still hanging around. I do not have a cleaning schedule. I do not meticulously plan my vacuuming days, washing the sheets days, dusting days, or mopping days. I do the "Holy Fucking Shit My Parents Are Coming Today, Quick Clean Up All Visible Dog Turds" cleaning regimen. It works for me. Just don't you dare call me a fucking housewife. I will beat you with my Swiffer.