I should have a warning sign that goes with me wherever I wander:
WARNING: Failed home economics in college (a basic requirement course, Home Ec. 101); marry at your own risk.
I once was a wife. A good one. I know the qualifications and duties and job description. Now, I want one.
My husband often hinted that we should work it into our pitiful budget to have a housekeeper. Yeah, right, on an Airman’s salary. You betcha.
I have decided the only help for me is to get a wife. I am going to post my wish on eBay this very second: Wife Wanted. They should be lining up at the back door as I write!
Now that I am NOT married (and no we didn’t get divorced because of my cleaning skills), I still play the role of wife. I am in a relationship going on 22 years. He doesn't work. I do. He is an auto mechanic and a great cook. I am neither.
Housekeeping and cooking and decorating just weren’t up there on top of my list of amazing talents. Sweeping stuff under the rug had a unique meaning to me – like, really! I can do that? Okaaaaaaay.
Don’t get me started on my total lack of skill when it comes to cooking. O My!
Within five minutes of arriving home from a day of working (my significant other says I am just sitting on my tush doing nothing physically exerting), he asks the inevitable burning question, "What's for dinner." I silently groan. Ack! And then I run through my mind the three things I can cook – fried chicken, fried pork, or hamburgers. I suggest "chicken?" and he immediately says, no, that doesn't appeal to him. "What does?" I ask, knowing he won't have an answer other than "I dunno." I'll go to my next item on my short list and get the same answer. It's pointless.
Keeping the contents of the refrigerator on a constant rotating “freshness” scale was also beyond my skills. I have bowls and jars and baggies in my fridge that are camouflaging what used to be edible items. Sometimes, when I lift the lid to try and guess the contents, I think that it speaks to me. “Yo! How ya do’in?” said in a deep gravelly voice coming from leftover asparagus (maybe). The fridge is so big that things can be shuffled back and forth until the back row is two weeks to two months old. What is the shelf-life of leftover macaroni and cheese? They don’t teach that in Home Ec. Nor do they even talk about leftovers. The bane of my kitchen existence. Have you seen lettuce if it is stuck behind the cucumbers and onions and carrots and radishes for, oh, two months. I have to get a Hazmat kit out to remove it.
Then there is working with home grown vegetables – all good in their own right – except for cleaning them. Lettuce! Lettuce is filled with...... BUGS. I don’t like bugs. They are icky. I can wash them just fine but later when I put the salad bowl on the table, I can’t eat the salad because I know where each one of those lettuce leaves have been. With bugs. Eeeuuuuuu.
That’s just the kitchen. There’s the dusting, polishing, vacuuming, sweeping, and we haven’t even entered the bathroom yet – a gargantuan Petri dish if I ever saw one. Maybe my kids could use the bathroom for a science project – and get an “A”.
I want a wife! I want someone (other than me) to think of what to have for dinner, have all the ingredients at hand or magically appear at a snap of her (my wife's) fingertips, prepare the dinner, set the table, call me to dinner, and then poof!, go invisible while I eat. Then I want my wife to wash the dishes, dry them and put them away. I want a wife who will dust all the furniture as she walks by, multitasking as she goes – she is a miracle worker and can plan for dinner, dust the coffee table, and fix the tear in my significant other's jeans. Just.Like.That. The floor is spotless and shiny. The refrigerator is organized, clean, and everything is edible! The bed is fresh and made. My work clothes are clean, pressed, and laid out for me to just jump into.
My wife also does massages.
Yep, I want a wife! All applications welcome.