One of the things my husband liked about me was that my flat was immaculate.
Har de har har.
It was.
The kitchen had a black and white checkerboard floor that required cleaning every week at the very least or it would look like it hadn’t been washed in years.
And I didn’t have much stuff.
And I worked a lot, so – there wasn’t much time to make a mess on my own.
And having my very own place was a novelty.
These days, with kids, and painting, and more time to attempt to do stuff, and a much bigger and older house, and a shorter attention span (how that happened I’ll never know – and no there were no drugs involved), and several other people who also have a very short attention span, the house seems to be a permanent bomb-site.
The floor gets washed every few months.
But we have clean clothes and happy smiles. And my husband is learning to live in a slightly more dishevelled environment and doesn’t complain as much as he used to.
I think his old Italian story that doesn’t translate well must be true.
To boil a frog you must put it in cold water and turn the heat up slowly or it will jump out.
I think we’re just about cooked. Now where’s the mop….
Ahhh yes I understand all that.
Or put a heavy lid on the pot:)
Wonderful! Sounds like my home as well. My mother has a quote on her wall: “dull women have immaculate homes”. By that token you must be a very interesting person indeed.