A Housekeeper I am not

I have a love-hate relationship with housework. I hate doing it but love it when it’s done. I know that’s not that unusual; plenty of people are in this boat. I would rather have a maid but financial concerns do not allow that to happen. This morning after a series of mechanical problems thwarted our bike riding, I had to make a decision. Did I want to watch my husband fret over the brakes on the bike, or do I want clean sheets for the week and the availability of clean underwear? The clean won. It didn’t take a lot of time and before you knew it, the bikes were working again and out we went.

To me, and probably too many others, dust accumulates in the flattest of surfaces all too soon. When I do get in the mood to actually dust, a week later it looks just the same as it did before I dusted. Well not totally, but dust is there again, looming its ugly head up and proclaiming its appearance once again. I hate the dust. It makes me look like the bad housekeeper I am.
When I got married, I tried to impress my husband with my housekeeping abilities, such as they were. But I soon tired of all the show and eventually when he complained I said “if you don’t like it, do It yourself.” To which, he did! Now he is quite the housekeeper doing more vacuuming and cleaning than I do. I tend to leave everything to the last minute until the time I look around and see that the house resembles something out of a horror film and then decide that something has to be done and we can’t live like this any longer. I the speed around dusting, vacuuming, and straightening until things are somewhat shiny. My husband on the other hand takes his time and really makes things shine. That’s great for him, but I hate to do it and so I do the least amount that I can. I suppose I am a diva at heart.

But this morning the only thing that got done were the laundry and the dishes. Then we went out for a ride.