Friday, November 2

Housework is Just No Fun

Periodically something strikes me, and as I look around the house
I am gripped, not by mood or inclination but by nasty claws: Dust
Monsters! They reach out from beneath my bed. I could swipe at them with a tissue, true
This is how I handle many a mess. It’s not as though I do not care
That the toaster crumbs are on fire and the bathroom needs
Hell, it need to be declared off limits. I don’t want to alarm you yet I must confess

That the tub has developed a delightful yellow glow around its edge. I confess
That tumbleweeds of tangled hair roam like angry cowboys around the house
Picking fights with wrinkled laundry while naked beds shiver neglected, but mama needs
A break. Fifteen minutes to plop up my feet and let my ankles carve dust
Angels into the coffee table. Don’t I sound cavalier? I haven’t a care
In the world. Come and sit with me, have a bonbon, listen. My tale is familiar and true

I opted out of office life to watch kids and write. I’m a lucky lady it’s true
The part I hadn’t considered, the piece of it that I confess
Turns my stomach as it turns my white panties pink is this: I’m really expected to care
About crap like oven cleaners and disinfecting bubbles? Lemon scented? Not my house
But I take full blame. Woe is me for I am weak against an opponent as insidious as dust
Lurking, hovering, smothering my paltry attempts for I do try. I heard that a child needs

A well-scrubbed environment. Antibacterial triumph hurrah! Or not. My hero said a child needs
Exposure to filth to build character and bulk up immunity. Ok, maybe that’s not entirely true
But (vindication!) the report did come down on the side of dust.
Oh, since you’re still here, I have another self-serving tidbit to confess:
I get anxious in that woman’s house
You know, the Stepford one with no dust and nary a book out of place? How can she care

So much? I know, she must not live life as fully as I. She must not care
About things that really matter. For surely a house needs
To be a disaster if the family is having a rollicking old time. A house
Remains a house if its sparkling clean. Isn’t it true
That only when draped in the colorful cast-offs of life does a house become a Home? Confess
It, you’ll feel better. There’s something homey and sweet about all my dust

Oh come on, don’t look so concerned my friend. I will sweep the dust
Under the table when you stop by unannounced. Who me? Care?
Oh no not at all. I’m delighted to see you. But alas let me confess
That the maid has been ill. The chef’s out of town. And the lawn sorely needs
Professional attention. You know how hard it is to get good help. Sad but true
It does take a village to render presentable this old house

What else dare I confess, with all my dirty secrets spelled out in the dust?
It’s my mess, my house, so really I don’t know why you even care
It will get done if it really needs to. Really, I swear that much is true.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I am a neat freak so feel free to ignore my suggestions.

1.don't get a dog. dog hair + dust really bugs.

2.hire a cleaning person. just twice a month.

3. enjoy kids and write.