confessions of an anti-housewife.

i’m thinking about my overall crapness in the area of “wifely duties” and i figured i’d share with you. it may make my last post even more profound.

i fake make the bed.  i just smooth the sheets out and fling the duvet on top and sort of arrange the pillows.  we’re going to mess it up later anyway.  the Brit actually makes the bed – you know,  taking the pillows off, pulling the sheets up and making sure they are even and taut and then pulling up the duvet and folding the sheets over and fluffing the pillows… bah! i don’t have time for that.

sometimes, when i’m really lazy,  i use the dishwasher.  we hardly ever use it because there is just two of us.  but when i get home from work,  finish my workout and look at the pile of dishes from the night before, i just can’t be bothered and i put them in the dishwasher.  they are clean, dried and put away before the Brit gets home from work.  I get praise for being so good.  it’s a win-win situation if you ask me.

i don’t clean bathrooms.  ewww. gross.  that’s a boy’s job (and thankfully, the Brit recognises this and makes it part of his boy chores).

i think i’ve already talked about how i “do the ironing“

the Brit is in charge of grocery shopping because i cannot be trusted.  if left with me,  our cupboards would be full of cereal, french fries, cake mix and cookies.

when doing a load of laundry,  i actually have to call the Brit to ask him how to work the washing machine.

see what i mean?  and he puts up with it.  that is because i am the best in so many other ways.  i remind him of that every time he’s putting my neatly folded laundry away.