On Being A Domesticated Housewife

Last millennium, there was a paradigm shift in the way men and women thought and behaved. Whole societies evolved into liberal entities, allowing such acts like women being allowed to work, men being allowed to marry other men, women being allowed to marry other women, women being allowed to vote, read and opine – acts that would have had them killed before. We all rejoiced this happy turn of events. Everyone could do everything, and no one would be allowed to question them. Everyone had smart lawyers who ensured the continued freedom to do and to sue.

However, I must have missed the memo, because of late, I’ve been domesticated to such an extent that I’m wondering if I’ve gone back in time to the Darker Ages, and occupied a woman’s body. A typical day in my life pans out like this: I wake up, finish my ablutions, make some coffee for myself and drink it while reading the newspaper. So far so good, right?

I then wash the previous night’s dishes, clean the kitchen counter, the stove, the shelves and the dining table, take a shower, clean up the bathroom, clean up the toilet, set the bed and go to work. I guess this is also typical of a guy living alone. But, wait. It gets better.

I get home in the evening, make some coffee or tea for myself, drink it while watching a bit of television, then make some dinner. Once I’m fed, I clean up the kitchen and the stove, and if I’m in the mood, I do the dishes right there. I then do a quick, cursory sweep of the house with a broom, dust all the table tops and the windows. I then proceed to put my dirty laundry into the washer, and while its doing its thing, I walk down to the grocer, buy some groceries, walk back, and arrange the new purchases on the shelves. I tie up the garbage bags and take it downstairs for it to be picked up. By now, the washer would have almost finished its job, so I take the wet clothes out to the line to hang them up.

But what’s this? There are clothes already present on the line, from last evening’s laundry. So, I take them down, and replace them with today’s. I fold the dry clothes and put them away in my cupboard, come back into the kitchen and clean the washer. I then make some more coffee or tea and clean up the dishes and run a wet towel over the kitchen counters again and watch some more television with my beverage.

I hit the sack, exhausted.

So, in this domesticated lifestyle of mine, I hardly find the time to socialize. I need a break, and I need a maid. Sometimes it’s a nice break from the monotony of not doing your own chores.

Oh, I won’t bother writing about my weekend schedule. It’s worse.