Monday, April 5, 2010

Long Weekend, No Relaxation

It's that time of year and I have found that whenever this time comes around, I either love it or hate it.  This year, I hate it.  Not only are my new neighbours trying to fix their house in record time to be able to live in it, but my Dad is trying to get me clean my house up so it passes his inspection.  Dad's inspection is tough.  Dad comes from a time where if you are at home all day, cleaning a house is all you do with your time.  You cleaning, dust, vacuum and cook for you man until he arrives home and you're supposed to greet him at the front door with his slippers and a glass of scotch... oh, and dinner must be ready to eat on the table.  

Well, times have changed markedly and a lot of people don't eat that way anymore.  However, my Dad seems to think that because I spend a lot of my time at my place, that my house should be nice and tidy at all times and that all I seem to do is stare at wall until a visitor shows up - if anyone does - so that I don't dirty the house up too much.  And if my house is messy or unorganised it's because I haven't been keeping up with my chores lately.  
I keep up with my chores just fine; the problem with this little equation is that I don't have anyone to help me around the place.  I don't have a man in my life to make things that little bit easier and I have to do all my own heavy lifting on my own.  I put out my own rubbish, put out the wheelie bin, wash and wipe up, cook, clean the floors, sweep up, clean the bathroom and toilets (yep, I have two!), do all my own laundry, mow my lawn and re-pot all my own plants... all this on my own without anyone else running around doing the heavy stuff for me.  Now, if he thinks I don't do anything around the place, he's got another thing coming.

About a year or so ago, he got in and did some housework.  I think around his house.  I think he vacuumed, cleaned the bathroom and toilet and washed up and did the kitchen/dining room floor.  By the end of just the little bit, he complained that his back was killing him, his hip (he has a bad hip) was in agony and he was dog tired.  And he had to put out the laundry and do another load before lunch (I think it was laundry he had to do, I'm not sure, but I knew there was another job).  Anyway, I said that I often got jobs like this done around my house done very quickly and still had another six to do; and got them done in the afternoon.  He didn't believe me... but I had told him the truth.

Yet, you know, he's forgotten all about that day of painful housework.  I really don't understand men.  They expect us to get in and do the house work and be their slaves when they want to sit on the couch and watch the footy/racing/cricket while drinking all the beer in the house and being a pig too.  But once you get them with a mop in their hands or a toilet brush, they complain they can't do the job.

Strange that.

No comments:

Post a Comment