Surrendered Wife

I'm a surrendered wife. Not of the 1990's version (does anyone still remember those?) but a 2011 version. I have surrendered all housework to Husband.

See, Husband has proved to be quite a wizz with that sort of thing. He swoops around the house, picks up bits and pieces, seems down right proud of his clean kitchen floor and spotless coffee table. Me, I quite enjoy the sight, but it's not enough to give me an urge to follow his example.

Having spend more or less all of my adult life trying to become a Domestic Goddess, but always falling sadly short, I completely gave in a few months back. "Sod it!" I thought. I didn't care if the dishes weren't done (never did, really, but always felt guilty for not caring), couldn't be bothered making the bed (ditto) and decided to simply just let it be - it would sort itself out somehow. And, you know what? It did!

One morning I came home from work - one of my jobs is a night job - and the kitchen was spotless. Had Nigella moved in? Had Saint Delia suddenly appeared on our door step begging for a job as a housekeeper? Nope, Husband had had enough!

The plan couldn't have worked better had I actually planned it!

So, these days Husband takes care of all things housey, apart from cooking and baking. Though baking I am banned from after last weekend, when I left the spatulas and bowls in the sink and the flour turned to concrete. Cooking I'm still trusted with, but as my food - look wise - mainly resembles something that even Oliver Twist would turn his nose up at it's just a matter of time. The taste is fine, though, so as long as I keep the lighting dim it's edible. Thinking of that, some new surgical lights may be in order. It's the highest fashion, isn't it?