Housework Ha Ha Ha!

Housework! Who doesn't do as little as they have to, as infrequently as possible? Surely I'm not alone in this. Of course, living on one's own does allow a certain latitude, a license to chill over the matter.

It's not as though I'm lazy. I've always got tons on the go. It's a question or priorities. There are usually way more exciting things to do than make beds, dust surfaces. clean blinds, sweep floors, wash dishes. However, as it happens today I've reached a kind of end-point. I arrive at this position about every three weeks, when I've not got a single clean plate, cup, dish, pan or knife, fork and spoon left in the house and the dirties are piled up on either side of the kitchen sink. (You're shocked?)

the correct way to do washing-up

Of necessity therefore, this week's blog will be short as I shall spend a good hour or two washing up in the approved manner. The poem's the thing then, if it is a poem. Enjoy!
Marigold LovesSupposing she hadn't come home early from workto wash last night's dishes. She'd never have foundhis suitcase waiting ready in the hall, only the notenot even in an envelope lying on the kitchen table.
She scanned it as he flushed the loo, a flashback tohis joke with Deborah about cream of passion soup.The knife already in her hand, the surprise all his ashe came whistling downstairs, and in a bitter frenzy 
she thrust deep into his belly over and again. Bloodeverywhere, his dying prayer inaudible.  I won't letyou leave me for her!  she spat. So that was that. Itwas after she put her dress in the washing machine
and pulled on yellow gloves to start on those dishesthat she remembered some crime-writer's, Maigret'sperhaps, Tale Of A Tidy Wife: cut him to pieces andmince the meat for freezing. Throw out one portion
in the rubbish every few weeks. Dissolve the bonesin acid and pour the liquid down the drain. Burn thebloody clothes in the furnace. And yes, put that casein any railway station luggage locker and dispose of
the key and then produce the note as proof he's goneto start his new life with another. Marigold loves himof course, but how dared he? Wistfully she sips wine.She always does her best thinking at the kitchen sink.

Thanks for reading, S ;-) Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to Facebook