The non domestic goddess

It's common knowledge that I hate to clean.
Not even hate, it's just not really part of my life or vocabulary.

I tidy, and I talk, and I pour drinks, and I light candles, and I entertain guests,  and I put on tunes, and I set the table, and I course I cook lots and ( I hope) quite well.

I am a host.
I feel that all of that work in an evening leaves my share of duties fulfilled. Great no problem, the majority of people in my life are happy enough for the most part to clean if I cook or direct me while I ocasionallyclean, a not very pleasant task that usually ends up with a little assistance being given.

It's a two way street and if I've sweated over a roast loin of pork for 3 hours or whiled away an afternoon slow cooking lasagne then I am entitled to take a back seat with a glass of vino for the clean up. Someone has to entertain the guests!

So that's fine, I've lived my life that way for many a moon. Spending probably thousands of dinners with a certain hunger monster meant that I usually cooked, immediately and out of fear for my life upon entering the house at the end of the day. It was cook or be eaten. So I  rarely was on clean up, since thems the rules. If someone cooks, you clean.

However following the sudden flight of the Earls back to Eire, (I'm assuming the plane was empty since the last I heard there isn't such a push to get into Ireland from Canada, more the inverse,) I find myself running a one woman show. With no wingman or woman to play tag team with the dishes.

You can imagine my surprise when I came in this evening and yesterdays pots were still sitting there, and sunday's too. How strange I thought...... I mean I cooked after all. Surely somebody is supposed to have cleaned this up?

Nope, nothing moved an inch. The cooked rice still in the lunchbox on the counter where I forgot to put it back in the fridge. The coffee grains still stuck in the drain. And there's something I'm discovering about dishes...the longer you leave them, the worse they are.
The easy to clean rice pot is now rock solid, the noodles are stuck like glue to the smaller pot and it's all just gross.

I cheated.... I couldn't face it.

I did my best with a few of the big ones, scrubbing sporadically under a running hot water tap, until eventually fecking everything into the dishwasher, selecting heavy duty wash and heading to bed with a nice glass of apple juice and my purple laptop.
Aaaah much better.

This running your own household thing is proving to be ALOT of work.

And thats only the kitchen side of the room...you should see the living room side......

It was only halfway through a furious production line of homemade christmas card making that I realised that I don't actually have a hoover (yes, I still say hoover...I'll never sucumb to 'Vacum') so the mounds of paper clippings, snowflakes, sellotape squares and silver glitter that currently adorn  my couch, breakfast bar and entire floor surface are here to stay.

My bed is even full of glitter since apparently it adheres remarkably well to bare feet so when I get into bed, I'm bringing a few deposits of glitter and card cast-off crap with me.

Homemade cards did I say?...why yes. I'm sure I can expect an equal amount in my mailbox shortly. Ahem.

Postal address available on request!