Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Will the Real Sammo Please Stand Up?

Ah friends, I was reminded (yet again) of an Eminem lyric (what, you go through your days withOUT being reminded of Eminem lyrics?) when The Man made some comment about my ::jazz hands:: amazing housewifely skills.

The lyric is thus: ..."there's no such thing/like a good-looking woman/that cooks and cleans."

Frankly, *that* lyric has always offended me (forget about the ones involving chain saws and/or the B word) - I am one of God's special creations AND I do cook AND clean.

Honestly, I do because I have to, and do neither terribly well.

I loathe cooking. I vaguely tolerate cleaning. I cook the same few dishes because A. I like them and B. they're easy to make and/or clean up. When The Man goes off on one of his Air Force trips, the kids and I eat macaroni and salad, respectively. I'd probably be about 10 lbs lighter if I didn't have to cook for anyone. You know, my mom lost weight AFTER we left the house. Hmmmm.

I'm a lot of things, but a domestic goddess? Not so much. Nor did I ever aspire to be! So The Man, and half the good state of Indiana, can say what he/they like about my issues with cooking or picking up the EVER LOVING washcloths in the bathroom and I'll be annoyed but not offended. Per se. (Because a day without 'per se' is a day without sunshine.)

On Oprah once, there was a lady whose house had gotten all out of control and was a dirty hot mess. A therapist told Oprah it was because this lady was actually a perfectionist - Oprah was aghast, it didn't make sense! Or did it... The woman would get all discombobulated if she put things in order and then someone messed them up, so she'd give up and do nothing.

My house isn't a dirty hot mess, but I *am* a perfectionist. Just ask The Man; when he comes home from one of his trips and the house is all shiny and new and lovely and he leaves a glass out, or his shoes in the hall, or his jacket on the back of the loveseat. Ask him what happens. It isn't pretty.

I'm really just protecting us all by NOT obsessing about the state of my house. MAGnanimous bone friends.

Although that doesn't stop me from coveting my biff's perfectly organized pantry. Although I'd just get distracted by the Diet Cream Soda and wander off to eat some triscuits.

I really thought I'd have people for this sort of thing. You know, so I could spend more time reading and/or vacuuming. Now vacuuming? THAT I can obsess about. No tumbleweed dog/cat hairballs in THIS house.

Even now as I type I'm thinking that the time has come to do my LEAST FAVORITE INDOOR CHORE EVER = cleaning the fridge. And only because I have a morbid fear of e. coli.

Wish me luck. Or that I discover some latent Betty Crocker gene.

Comments, questions, do you clean?