e has suddenly realised that I'm no longer chasing my own tail and caught me this morning sitting in front of Jeremy Kyle dipping custard creams into my tea. The house (I envisage that it held a conference while we were at the wedding on Saturday) has decided to play up, create mess and generally make itself extremely visible to me.Where did those dust bunnies in the corner by the TV come from? They weren't there yesterday when we were glued to the TV watching various music stars cavort around the Wembley stage. Why has the bathroom developed a sudden musty smell - the kind that demonstrates that there are a few damp towels wedged somewhere. What the hell is that stuck to the runner along the hallway? The dogs sniff it and shoot off at speed. I investigated it this morning, on my hands and knees, sniffing the carpet. It doesn't smell of anything that I can smell but it looks sticky. Why can't I shut the roundabout cupboard in the kitchen? Nothing is stopping me (misplaced Oxtail soup can and so on) yet it won't close. Why can't I plump up my gorgeous duvet cover any more? It sits in forlorn lumps, taunting me.
Has my house been ignored over the past few months and is now getting its own back? Or has Gladys decided that I've been far too slovenley for far too long and is prompting me spiritually?
Whatever's going on, an immediate clean up job is required. It's not as if I've been shirking my housewifely duties during the run up to The Wedding, but I must admit it's been more or a lick and a promise than full on heavy duty elbow grease.
I started in the kitchen - it's gleaming and sparkling and the cupboard door now shuts, I still don't know what was wrong with it. Then I did the hallway, utility room, dining room and the living room. When David got home at half past seven he found me slumped in front of Coronation Street while Mac polished the ornaments in his PJs. "Daddy, I'm soooooooooo tired!" he yawned. I merely waved from my supine position and gratefully grabbed hold of the bottle of wine David handed me as he whisked the child-labour workforce up to bed.
The house seems happy that it's halfway clean and tidy - perhaps Gladys is relenting a little now that I've set the ball rolling.
7 comments:
I think that you should tell Gladys that unless she pulls her weight and helps with the household chores, you'll call in an exorcist. Ghosts are all very well, but freeloading, critical ghosts - well, that's a step too far.
I know exactly what you mean - one day mine is tolerable (I have a high tolerance level for mess). then suddenly, I simply have to sort it all out now
I have to sort it out- the mothership descends on Satuday, and we're selling, so instead of Gladys on my back, it'll be the ghost of Ann Maurice!!!
The reason we're moving? MASSIVE utility room envy!
I'm all for enlisting the help of the child-labour workforce. But usually I have to coerce or bribe them so much that its quicker to do it myself.
I have quite a good relationship with the ghosts in this house, but they never do as they're told. I think a few more conversations with Gladys are needed.
This house is permanently messed up. I give up!
Crystal xx
you should feel quite righteous!
Well done - all that gleaming and shining - bet you're watching the TV wearing your best Ibiza 'shades'?
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