1:56 p.m. - 2005-05-12
Until yesterday you could have created a modern art form on and out of the layers up dust blanketing the living room ‘entertainment’ centre. (entertainment centre … more like ‘addiction’ centre really - TV, GameCube, DVD, and Stereo!), and fireplace mantel. I keep dreaming that a housekeeping fairy would materialize and in turn vaporize the clutter, dust bunnies, and paper collections. But no, there are no housekeeping fairy available for us.
I hear rumours of people who actually spend hours on the weekend cleaning their homes, apartments, or living area. Some have actually admitted to having spent 4 hours on their bathrooms ALONE!! This is shear madness. Is not quality time of more value than a clean home? Or am I too content to live in a house that can go more than a week without hearing the high-pitched whine of the vacuum actively seeking out dirt from the carpet?
I must admit there is a certain rush that comes over me when I’ve tackled a particularly arduous cleaning project. To see the bling-bling sparkle of a bathroom is an experience one can treasure for only a moment. Precious moments until someone has need of the bathroom, then all the sterilization in the world cannot retard the tarnish that ensues. Oh the bittersweet transitory space of time.
I claim this as my reason for the rare domestic science that happens in our home. I can’t bear the heartbreak of housewifery, to watch the efforts evaporate so quickly because life happens. I would rather spend my time enjoying the space then maintaining the ritual cleansing.
Does that make me a bad person? My husband is no different. I suppose that’s what makes him perfect for me. We’d rather enjoy each other’s company then waste a Saturday cleaning a house that will only get dirty all over again.
Or at least that’s my story.