Friday, March 8, 2013

Forget Having A Fairy Godmother, I Just Want A Maid

Sometimes being an adult sucks.
Oh sure, you get to do all the cool stuff - like drive, stay up late, sleep in, and not go to school (gack,  homework). 
But there is a downside.  Work.  Bills.  Hangovers.  And then there is the dread that looms over me this weekend – all of those responsibilities that no one will take care of for me (unless I were uber-wealthy with an army of minions at my disposal). 
I will admit that the last few weekends have been spent running about the city having fun here and there.  Museums, theater shows, dinners out –staying up late and sleeping in even later; it’s been a whirlwind of fun.  But on the home front, a storm has been brewing.  That single pair of socks has developed into a minor mountain.  The layer of dust that descended upon the coffee table is now thick enough for me to write my name in.  And all that’s left in the refrigerator is water, 2 beers, 4 eggs, a few scraggly looking carrots and a half a gallon of milk.  I can’t even make a reasonable omelet with that.
The weekend of reckoning has arrived. 
There’s laundry to do, carpets to vacuum, pantry shelves to restock, and…gack!...the mother of all chores…a bathroom to clean.
Remember when you were you were younger and the most traumatic chore in the house was dusting?  Oh the humanity!  Call CPS!  “HELP!!!  My mother is making me dust ALL… THE… FURNITURE… IN… OUR… GINORMOUS… MANSION… OF… A… HOUSE!!!” (never mind that it was only about 1500 square feet and a combined total of 8 various tables, bookshelves and a piano that needed dusting).  Otherwise, everything in the house was magically cleaned, food appeared on the table, the laundry fairy kept restocking the closet and we were left to play the rest of the day away and wish we were older so we could do cool “adult” things (whatever those were).
Not anymore – now all the cool things about being an adult come with a price.  Why did no one warn me about this part?  Now the house is cleaned, groceries bought, and laundry washed/dried/and put away only when I get around to it.  It’s a thin line to walk – a delicate balance of working 8 hours a day, sleeping less than that, and fitting in a few beers in between. 
Is it too late to contemplate running away from home this weekend?  Probably not.  But like ignoring any good problem, it won’t go away; the pile will just grow, the layer will thicken and then I’ll just be left with 2 eggs, a few scraggly looking carrots and a half a gallon of milk.
I know that I’ll feel better when all of the work is done; it’s just the getting there that I’m dreading.  Once complete, I’ll have a fresh, sparkling home, clothes hanging neatly on hangars, and a feast-full of food in the fridge.  I’ll feel this wonderful sense of accomplishment at a job well done and not cringe at the thought of unexpected visitors dropping by (like the board of health coming to condemn the property).  And then I can take one more look about the place, reveling in its clean and orderliness….
And then rush out the door, off on another adventure.