the unbearable lightness of being
August 28 alternatively, A Day on the Domestic Front...
or, The Inevitable Sauciness of Being..Minx...
Arise with some reluctance at 5:10 am to prepare coffee for similarly disenchanted husband.
While sipping coffee, keep one bleary eye on Sky Channel with other on exotic blip of light from plane travelling to presumably more exciting location...
Kiss husband goodbye and move immediately and with much vigour to computer, checking rabidly for new comments on posts, emails from friends and vital information regarding incalculable and enormous enlargement of p3n1s.
With all inconsistent penile thoughts now scoured from domestic consciousness, proceed to laundry where scouring continues and estimation is made of detritus, accumulating it seems with festering and rabid vigour overnight.
Gathering and sorting of soiled items reveals profit of $5.30 in coins and $10.00 in notes, with grisly assortment of paraphernalia, including one unopened packet of orange earplugs, one post-it notepad and two lonely pen lids.
Subsequent sweeping of timber floors reveals less impressive quarry amongst creative, yet unruly gatherings of sand, dust and dehydrated food products lurking within cracks and corners.
Venture within bowels of youngest son's bedroom in effort to restore primitive semblance of order.
Remove unholy gathering of eight empty contact lens cases and one cigarette packet, relocate two pungent towels, three underpants, five dirty socks, three smelly t-shirts, one pair of jeans, boardshorts and one abandoned 1980's Salvation Army suit from unprofitable journey to Ascot Races, cancelled due to national equine flu.
Spend thirty minutes wrestling son's porn collection back under bed, pausing to read articles and genuine reader contributions.
Remove and pocket 80c in coins while disposing of three chewing gum wrappers, one squashed cigarette and orange plastic lighter while relocating one small tin containing residue of smelly green matter.
Remove from marital bed persistent burrowing Italian greyhound masquerading as pet dog.
Hang out washing despite ponderous gathering of storm clouds overhead.
Inspect eldest son's pad for missing plates and cutlery, soiled towels, dirty socks and empty beer cans.
Abandon project due to unmentionable smells emanating from under bed.
Convince eldest son of need for personal hygiene and management of bachelor pad, while subtly and successfully conveying need for therapeutic cup of coffee.
Contemplate options for evening meal involving chicken thighs.
Sip coffee while pondering numbing repetition of daily life, wondering if it is too early for a glass of shiraz for pain management instead.
Despite abhorrence of long phone calls, languish on phone for 65 minutes with good friend/outrageously saucy fellow minx Vanessa, planning and perpetrating mischief, saloon girl style, by way of the party to end all parties at New Year.
Ah, The Wicked Wild West, ablaze with soiled doves and bordellos, fills my thoughts as de-soiling of the male bathroom area begins, causing me once more to lament the poor choice of white mosaic floor tiles.
Ministrate to own bathroom area, quietly congratulating oneself on excellent choice of chocolate coloured floor tiles while carefully avoiding singing one's own praises in case small nugget of chocolate coloured dog excrement is again located in shower area.
Cleanse bath and conserve water simultaneously by taking lengthy and bubble soaked bath. Thorough and unabashed soaking manages to dislodge several stubborn sins left languishing in lower cerebral cortex.
With renewed vibrancy, dust all wooden furniture and polish all glass surfaces, carefully attending to inappropriate red wine spillage.
Inadvertently begin creating list of items needed for El Camino and spend inordinate amount of time cleaning out cupboards sourcing items and storing them in preparation for adventure nine months from now.
Sit on bed to lament the time/space continuum, only to squash small burrowing family pet lurking deep within covers.
Remake marital bed a subsequent three times, prompted by small tell tale lump in lower right hand corner.
Prompted by unexpected disturbance in underwear drawer, and inspired by talk of bordellos, indulge in unscripted rearrangement of fancy and frivolous undergarments with subsequent and spontaneous donning of corset.
Quite unexplainably, am also compelled to slip into fck me boots while preparing lunch time sandwich.
While consuming said preparation, watch in horror as unappointed rain shower unleashes deluge over almost dry washing line offerings.
Dodge raindrops to rescue washing, now hanging like bags.
Compromise vow to the environment with subsequent dependency on clothes dryer for next three hours.
While towelling oneself dry, am called to front gate by delivery man bearing new products from Amazon.
Squealing with delight is quelled by the lamenting of poor garment choice for impromptu adventure into front courtyard - and subsequent conversation with top of man's head.
Remove corset and boots, wash oneself of filthy looks and religiously lock all entryways to house.
Now wearing exotic robe and, given recent kudos on Indian cooking skills, decide on chicken korma curry for evening meal, inspiring recipe with non-authentic, yet flavoursome addition of wine for exciting and individual flavour, while providing perfect excuse for premature consumption of shiraz.
Finally return to computer for production of further forty five sentences of book that continues to mutate, transform and disappear up own bottom after two years of unabated tweaking.
Inadvertently access early posts of Girl with a One Track Mind blog, only to conclude that one's own life is in danger of seeming considerably less dynamic, possibly improved only with gratuitous lashings of sex, or lashings of gratuitous sex, or just lashings maybe, or sex...
Contemplate methods of sexual rejuvenation* over early, but obviously necessary, glass of Angoves Red Belly Black 2005 Shiraz.
Simultaneously wipe down kitchen benches and stainless steel appliances in obsessive/compulsive manner, conveying image of hardworking mother to lurking eldest son.
Retreat to computer for rework of previous sentences in similarly obsessive/compulsive manner. Have now reduced todays contribution to twenty two sentences...
(Noisy return of youngest son: hungry, belligerent and vehemently announcing the breakdown, the imminent breakdown, of his 1974 HJ Holden station wagon, determines premature end to the production of indulgent and intelligent musings.)
Abandon any further domestic considerations due to exhaustion (obviously), relentless badgering from belligerent offspring, concern for husband's wellbeing* and incalculable boredom...
Decide on early night and escape via the swinging saloon doors to Bordello Minx for a little yes I can can, a little dove soilage and perhaps some poker, with a heavy hand..
to restore the balance, of course...
"On the surface, an intelligible lie;
underneath, the unintelligible truth."
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
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Reader Comments (32)
Now that's what I call a dirty post
Naturally, dearest Thinista!
And thank goodness, despite all my cleansing domestic ministrations,
for the inevitable smuttiness of being...
!!!
xox
oh, of course
Darling Whit,
So glad you made it the whole way through, to the bottom no less and saw the inevitable recourse I must make in the quest for balance - or something like it..
I should have added the woes I suffered at the hands of the instrument I use to relay this stuff!!
With the aggravation of an inordinately slow modem, I could have replaced the title with
"The Unbearable Slowness of My Computer"...
xox
My dear minx... it seems you and I lead mirrored lives for I too donned corset and fck me boots whilst doing laundry.. With a few exceptions...
1. My book seems to be further up my bottom and gathering dust. However you have managed to motivate me to pull it out and further mutate it myself....
2. Motivate and cue a few yoga sessions with middleaged women unable or unwilling to move off larger and roomier said bottoms or breathe in synchronization.
3. Take a ridiculously hot bubble bath after trying desperately to sooth screaming muscles after hour plus go round with eliptical stairclimber free weights and evil personal trainer.
4. Prepare large salad for lonely dinner whilst listening to a little classic frank sinatra with a very dry dirty martini (back in corset and fck me boots of course).
5. Call daughter in college dorm seven hours away, miss her terribly, jealous she is going to Dave Matthews tonight.
Check with your mum to see if we might have been separated at birth. And the next time I am scrubbing my green mosiac tiles or I accidentaly sit on my cat I will think of you... cheers and thanks for reminding me there is a heaven to be found in domesticated hell...well done xoxoxox kk
dearest... not only do i not own a pair of fck me boots... but my 18 hole "get a life" combat boots sporting the steel toe on the outside have never been first choice for laundry dishes or any other chore that may be deemed domestic....but that more than likely is not the boots fault.. they are just unaware that i ever do any of that stuff... oh i am a clever girl.....
Darling Kimmykat,
It is a balancing act indeed, wavering between heaven and hell on the domestic front...
Those fck me boots come in handy when dodging the fiery coals, I can tell you!!
The corset? Well, a little fluff and nonsense is just the anti-domestic diversion one needs sometimes!
I often think we were separated at birth...or leading parallel lives, my feline friend xox
Darling Paisley,
Your boots are definitely in the fck family.
They are "fck you" boots, of course! Which is really what I would like to be saying to the laundry.
Perhaps I should wear my combat boots instead...
I can assure you it is a war zone here most days with three men inhabiting my territory.
I have to lock and load on a daily basis to reclaim my minxy territory and safeguard my delicate sensibilities.
And I say to you, accumulated domestic detritus:
Yippee ki-yay motherfcker!!
xox
I am fascinated at the mention of boots with the steel cap on the outside. You do know I have quite the collection - 36 pairs now...
I may have to send in a reconnaissance mission to acquire these boots of which you speak.
Yes, hmmm...
Alas, I do not own any 'fck me' boots, but I do won a 'sck me' hat.
*own, not won.
Damn that booze.
Dearest Likely,
I wonder if you don your clever little cap, your sck me hat, while you watch Botter on all fours ministrating to your mosaic tiles and such..
I dare say I should like to borrow Botter for a while and have him attend to my domestic needs...perhaps you could join him Likely and we could titillate surprise guests with our clever accoutrements!!
xox
I think that booze of yours has intoxicated me Likely, via the ethers of the internet,no less.
I keep leaving the "u" out of the word fck.
I really am rather confsed...
xox
All this 'fck'ing has left me rather breathless. I remain feckless and adoring, eternally enthralled by your domestic brilliance.......
Dear Minx, I just knew you were an obsessive sentence-tweaker. I am just the same and it thrills me to share this compulsion with you. I am also developing a compulsion to bite your neck...
My darling Michelle,
I too remain feckless in the face of my own fcklessness...
It is something I shall attempt to correct via conspiratorial amounts of ironing tomorrow and copious amounts of shiraz thereafter.
Your domestic darling,
xox
My most hirsute of friends,
What delicious analogies we are...
Me thinks my tweaking would be in utter harmony with yours...and I do like to tweak so...
Perhaps one day we will tweak as one..
and I will let you bite my neck,
although you must know that I am also a compulsive biter...
xox
Just reading this post makes me tired! Good Goddess!
I highly suggest a more...hands off approach to house cleaning. Why, I avoid it at all costs. I'd rather just wear my fck me boots and think about cleaning the house. Or think about not cleaning the house. It's far more enjoyable.
Don't forget that there are three kinds of shoes--fck me shoes...fck you shoes...and don't fck with me shoes.
xoxo
M
Dearest Margot,
I was physically incapacitated upon completion of it's writing, let alone it's physical enactment.
Goodness me, I thoroughly advocate the hands-off approach - if only there was that other pair of hands!!
I need only mention once that there are three men in my house for one to understand that I cannot leave it to it's own devices...
Dammit...
Oh I do miss my maid...
I wish I had been able to squirrel her from Indonesia when we returned...
There are far too many other things I'd rather have my hands on...
xox
Hello,
We would like to do an interview with you about your blog for
www.BlogInterviewer.com . We'd like to give you the opportunity to
give us some insight on the "person behind the blog."
It would just take a few minutes of your time. The interview form can
be submitted online at http://bloginterviewer.com/submit-an-interview
Best regards,
Mike Thomas
"Sip coffee while pondering numbing repetition of daily life, wondering if it is too early for a glass of shiraz"
MINX! ITS NEVER TOO EARLY for SHIRAZ!
xxoo