By virtue of our vag, women are born into a life of servitude. Clean the latrine Cinderella. Febreze till you wheeze Cinderella. Dear Martha: you’re not doin’ time anymore, so stop trying to make me your bitch. This suzy homemaker is officially lowering the bar.
The thing I despise more than a dirty house is cleaning. My wax-on wax-off sprees are automagically trashed by the family wrecking ball. If I wanted a spotless home, I’d entertain more. As of now, if you drop by unexpectedly, bring dark socks and no expectations.
You gotta know when to hold ‘em, know how to fold ‘em, know when to walk away, know when to run. I burn 2000 calories every time I put on a fitted sheet. Washing and drying laundry is unavoidable, understandable even, but folding is inhumane.
It’s said David Beckham has the hots for his hoover. Most men’s idea of housework is to sweep the room with a glance. There’s no history of any mate getting shot while doing the dishes. Quite the opposite, suds dripping down a man’s arms counts as chore-play.
Housework is like toilet paper. You’re either on a roll or dealing with crap. Particularly young boys with short bats who never stand close enough to home plate. We crossed swords for years until I showed them how I clean pee splatter…with their toothbrush.
“What the fork’s for dinner?” Every. Single. Day. What did we do to deserve that? Mutha Hubba’s cupboards are bone-ass bare, forcing a girl to be creative with quinoa and cocktail sauce. The next time you pick up groceries, I’d love more cheese with my whine!
|Opening a bottle of wine when the cork cracks|
|Finding the matching lid for a tupperware container|
|Cutting soft brie into even slices|
|Blow drying hair|
|Filling the car with gas|
|Returning phone calls|
|Feeding the dust bunnies|
JOIN THE SISTERHOOD. Subscribe today!
Share our shit with your favourite peeps.