My Dad has told me for centuries (it seems) that I am a champ at avoiding responsibility. This is probably true. Now that I live with myself and boyfriend I find that he and I are becoming annoyed over the things my parents were annoyed with me for.
Touchè Padre, touchè.
The problem isn’t that the magical box under the counter washed the dishes, it’s that there is additional effort required to take them out and put them away so that the magical box can wash more. Doing this takes time away from other, more interesting and intellectually pleasing tasks like, surfing the Internet and drawing pictures and writing my blog. Someday I’ll grow up…maybe.
If they exist, I wonder if supremely intellectual beings out there in space bitch about emptying the dishwasher or if they have robot slaves, who are slowly learning to love, to do it for them. What about, the All Mighty God?! Thor? I bet you that Loki craps, who changes the TP in Loki’s house? Does the maid put it on backwards just to piss him off? (Do this to someone with slight OCD and watch the fireworks.)
Anyway these, Adulty things take up huge chunks of time. I’ve found that, now I’m not living alone, (which no longer allows me to play Jenga with water glasses at my bedside table), I have to actually plan to do things like, clean. I can’t, on a whim, decide to ignore accumulating dust and then proceed to re-realize the importance of vacuuming 3 months later when I happen to StumbleUpon an article about dust. Seriously, that happened, and I am now petrified of dusty residue and all that it brings; especially in public places. Geeeyuch.
Grubly factoids aside, I get the importance of participating in daily life-cleansing tasks and I fully support them. I just wish there was some way to change my perspective from one of audible groaning to outright enjoyment, but I know me and housewifery is not my forte. So I’ll complain about it for now and be content with that.