Housework Is Not My Hobby!
With age comes wisdom
Don’t expect a show home if you ever visit my house.
I mean, we are hygienic enough to avoid mice, rats and cockroaches (so far) and you won’t catch anything here (touch wood), but I have to say that housework is not one of my hobbies.
Certainly not any more.
This could be an adverse reaction to my home growing up, where everything was spotless and in its place. Mum was a stay-at-home parent, who prided herself on having a perfect home. No amount of white glove treatment would ever catch an unsuspecting smidgen of dust in her establishment.
She would often casually throw in, “Oh, I can’t stand this house; it is so dirty!”, leaving visitors to cast their eyes around, mouths agape like goldfish, searching in vain for even one scuff-mark or fingerprint.
Mum’s energy for household chores was truly amazing. Every week, she meticulously polished a collection of brass ornaments which never seemed to show a fingermark.
She sewed, knitted and baked. I admire the resilience and strength it took to raise five children born in the space of six years.
But I am not her.
Once, as an adult, I visited her to find her dusting the letterbox. Inside and out.
