Bucketing rain, school holiday cabin fever, I’ve run out of wine and I can’t stop swearing. I’d wash my own mouth out with soap but that would involve me doing more housework. As my children and their friends trash my house, dirty words occupy my mind: Mop, cook, scrub, dust. I have such a potty mouth more of them come tumbling out: sweep, vac, fetch, carry. Will I be remembered for the cleanliness of my bathroom or the whiteness of my sheets? I think not.
“Housework is a treadmill from futility to oblivion with stop-offs at tedium and counter productivity” Erma Bombeck
Or as my friend Vic says: “I always ignore everything on the floor that is smaller in size than a young child, for safety reasons of course.”
I went to an expensive all girls private school where they obsessed over what we wore and how we spoke every day. So I swear way too much. When people meet my kids, especially my youngest, most think,
“What an adorable child.” It is usually at this point she bursts into song:
“Stick your head down the loo, don’t taste it, don’t waste it, it might be a poo.”