I have a very close friend who loves to go to the grocery store. She loves to cook, and therefore browses the store with love, looking for that next culinary adventure. I have more than a few friends like that, actually.
I do love to eat, and I do love amazing food. But it doesn’t come from me. I dig out a post it note with absolute disgust when the fridge gets pathetically skinny, knowing that I need to go to that place with the carts and the aisles and the endless cans and packages. I go out of guilt, because you can only stop for Sonic and Dairy Queen so many times before your family starts to dry heave.
My sister in law adores cleaning. Kind of fanatically, actually, I mean she has days assigned to certain parts of the house. But my point is, she enjoys it. She loves that feeling of a clean house. Her house is so immaculate, that when I walk in and she gets all embarrassed over some invisible piece of lint or a pillow on the chair instead of the couch…I want to bury my head in shame.
My house is a perpetual experience in chaos. I would love to say it’s just clutter. I would kill to say it’s actually clean. But it isn’t. I have earthtoned tile for a reason, because I know how long it’s going to be between mopping. I have a dog that can generate two of herself in dog hair every three days, and that is something that should be swept every day but isn’t. I do pretty well on the laundry, but towels only get folded when the cabinet is empty, and the dining room table we never use only gets swiped clean of the boxes / paperwork / school notes / book notes / random whatevers that land there daily in the universal junk pile…when we have company coming. Ditto to the mopping.
I would give my left foot for a maid. And I pick that appendage because my left foot always gives me grief anyway so what the hell.
It’s not that I don’t want to love to cook. It’s not that I don’t want to live in a cleaned and primped house. I would love both. I have approximately four dishes that I do well, and I have to spread them out or my family will be on to the fact that I really do suck. I love it when my house is clean, I just unfortunately don’t love the “doing it” portion of that equation. I barely get writing time as it is, so I’m feeling pretty darn domestic if I get off work, go to the stinking store, cook and do laundry and write something beyond a paragraph all in one night.
So… tell me about you. Are other people like you? Can you invite people over without a panic attack? Can you cook more than spaghetti?
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