Having recently moved into my own home and essentially never properly been responsible for the running of a house before, I have recently discovered the hideous reality that is cleaning EVERY BLOODY DAY. I mean, what?! No one told me this.
I fully intended to become some domestic goddess who had a house akin to a show home where people are afraid to sit down and have to eat toast whilst leaning over the sink. And, for a while the house was pretty spotless, but then I had to go back to work properly. So unfortunately my dream of living in the show home withered and died, and my house looks more like a small tornado has ripped through each room. I say this like it is an unusual thing for me, but if you asked any of my friends they would literally be completely un-phased, like yes that is Courtney. The surprise is that the house was spotless for quite a while, thats the fucking shocker.
Anyway, in addition to my own mess I have a live in man who brings his own mess with him, and then completely denies it’s his. And, whilst I’m sure he would love it if I was some 50’s housewife who prepared every meal on time, cleaned the house and had a martini ready for him when he came home from work, I definitely am not. Neither do I ever intend to be, I don’t actually have the energy to do it even if I wanted to.
Plus, most people, especially men, forget that most 50’s housewives were paid an allowance by their husbands to take care of domestic duties and also the man paid for EVERYTHING. So until I have some guy paying a mortgage on mansion and has bought me a Bentley then your tighty whiteys shall go unwashed. Thank you very much.
Which is why I made the decision to hire someone to clean my house, not everyday, not even every week, but fortnightly. Just so after a week in work I can slob on my sofa like the fat potato I am and have one less thing to concern myself with. I mean of course I will have to clean the house most of the time myself because I’m not just going to let the house look like its been raided by Vikings.
So, what is the point of this post. I’m not sure really. I think maybe I am just trying to make myself feel better for hiring a cleaner when I should be doing it myself. Besides that Fletcher absolutely did not enjoy the experience and barked his little head off whenever he laid eyes on her.
I think the other point I am trying to make is that in the age of Mrs Hinch (who I effing love by the way) and cleaning being a full on trend, it’s ok to have someone give you a hand when you need it, if it means saving your own sanity then its money well spent.