I Hate Housework So Much It's Not Even Funny
When someone expresses hate for housework, it always seems to me their comments are received as at least slightly humorous, if not as a downright comedic monologue. The dysfunctional vaccuum cleaner graphic used on this website is a case in point, as if it would be a sort of whimsical, slapstick event to have one's vaccuum cleaner blast filth into one's face particularly after one has spent some portion of one's life using the damn thing. I want to say, here and now, my hate for housework is not remotely humorous, not unless you are amused by existential despair, self loathing, and an inescapable sense of a life poorly lived. Dear God, how I hate housework. Everything I do, everywhere I go, I leave in my wake a path of cloth and paper, metal and plastic. I am a walking whirlwind,a perfect storm of slovenliness. But how I adore, how I thrive on, how my very survival depends upon an orderly environment. Dear God, what a monstrosity you have made in me: I am a neurotic neat-freak trapped in the body of a Snopes-ian slattern. Does anyone read this and not smile, but rather weep?