...and THAT'S why I don't do housework

Today, as a back to bloody normal day, I had a little list-ette of jobs. 

The day started off with dropping Oliver to a friends for a play.  Tick.

Then on to the resi home where my mother-in-law now lives, for a visit.  It was the usual twilight zone of not knowing what to discuss with someone who can barely remember what day it is or what has happened at any given point in the last 72 years.  The normal rules of conversation and social etiquette don't apply and I find myself feeling inadequate and convinced my visit has been a waste of time for her too.  But tick anyway.

Then Sainsburys.  Oh joy of joys, oh wonder of wonders.  It was full of people who don't know how to shop properly, ie, in a fashion which does not annoy me.  Do these people know nothing?  The main purpose of going there was to print off the last of my December pics to complete my journal.  More of this in another post.  So, tick.

Then home to start the dreaded housie chores.  Aside from the usual hamster wheel of dish-washing,  the endless dirty/clean clothes rotation and general 'stuff' I had the enviable tasks of putting up new curtains in our bedroom and flipping the mattress.  These come under the heading of 'extra jobs' and it is these extras that have my gnashing my teeth in rage at the unfairness of 'housework'.  It is such a broad spectrum title and covers anything which needs doing within the boundaries of the property (which sadly seems to include outside too.  Shudder) and thereby fall under my remit.

Ok, so the curtains - I'll take that one, it seems like a girl's job (sorry feminists) but flipping the mattress?  This is a king size mattress in a confined space.  I think Mark imagines I am in the running for Britain's Strongest Woman, because he quite often suggests I help with things such as moving breeze blocks from one end of the garden to the other, or chainsawing the hedge into shape.  It reminds me of the time that he suggested I clear out the shed when I was 8 months pregnant.  His look of surprise when I thundered 'well THAT doesn't sound like a job for a pregnant person' was - well, surprising. 

I left the mattress-flipping event for later on when he would be home to 'help' me. 

So on to the four new curtains.  I took down the oldy-mouldy ones and then set about cleaning the window area where the condensation is almost an uncontrollable daily happening and the resultant mould persists.  Then the curtain track came off its tethering and I started to get bit agitated and sweaty. 

I turned the heating off, and Oliver's stereo on loud.  I couldn't get to grips with the 'repeat' facility, which was a shame as I only really like about two tracks on there and was forced to listen to all manner of strange sounds and beats as the curtain debacle rumbled on.  It was a relief when One Direction came on with a proper tune and discernible lyrics. 

I had to wait for the extra strong chemical de-moulder to do its de-moulding.  Then I had to wipe it all off.  Then I had to wash all the curtain hooks in the kitchen sink, under the watchful and accusing eyes of the waiting dirty dishes.  Then I had to dry the buggers.  Then I had to shovel them all into their little curtain tape homes on the curtains, which proved to be the wrong homes once I had clambered up onto a wobbly chair to check the length.  More swearing later I had wrenched them all out and re-jammed them back into higher places, rejoined the rail and was two hung curtains down before it occurred to me that they probably should have been ironed first as there were clear fold lines across them from being in the packet for a million years.

I took them down again.  Then I had to drag out the ironing board, retrieve the iron from a different cupboard and set up the whole shebang in the kitchen.  To help me see what I was doing, I turned on the lamp on the dresser only to find that the bulb had blown.  Then I lost my temper.  I was quite glad I was in on my own as I said some Very Bad Words indeed whilst rummaging around in dim cupboards looking for a new bulb.  The only likely candidate was an energy bulb which if turned on at 3pm just about gathers enough muster to produce 40 watts at bedtime.  I replaced the bulb.

I ironed the curtains.  Then I thought I may as well iron a few bits and pieces while the iron was 'up'.  Half an hour later I returned to the curtains.  By now the strains of dance music was hurting my ears, and it was getting close to the time I had to go out and pick Oliver up.  Curtains finally hung, I could stand back in satisfaction at my handy work.

Three hours later when I came to draw them against the darkening evening I found they did not meet, due to over-zealous gathering at the top.  I felt like stamping my feet and screaming. 

You see, one job leads to another, and another, and another, and another, and THAT'S why I don't do housework.