If I have to wash one more dish,
Or pan, or plate, or tree of mugs,
I’m going to have to switch my wine to something stronger,
I mean vodka, of course (not drugs).
If I have to sweep up one more crumb,
Or raisin, or cheerio, or forgotten piece of toast,
I’m going into hibernation,
Which will make such a difference to my jam-packed social calendar, obviously, almost.
Should I just let our house descend into squalor?
Would it be any different from its current state?
I’d like to think of course it would! Yes!
But as the last time I hoovered was four days ago, I’m probably a bit late.
There must be more to adulting than cooking, washing, cleaning,
I thought I’d be eating cake for breakfast and embarking on a daily Netflix binge,
But alas, there’s little time after all the daily tasks,
And don’t get me started on the lack of cake, I wouldn’t like to whinge.
The bits in between; the cuddling, laughing, playing,
They are the gems of adult life,
They drag me out of bed in the morning,
And make me feel like a person, as well as a housewife.
I’ll be over it tomorrow, a glass of wine tonight will do its job,
A cleaner won’t appear, no matter how hard I wish,
I’ll cook and clean for my family with love and no complaints,
Just don’t make me wash another dish.