It’s fair to say that housework is the bane of
my life. I hate everything about it. I hate that dust gathers at every
opportunity, that crumbs appear on freshly hovered carpets (although for this I
blame The Boyfriend) and that skirting-boards require any attention whatsoever.
I wish I could be one of those people who has a clean home
that is ready for visitors at a moment’s notice.
But I’m not. I resent every loathsome minute I have to spend cleaning.
And now it’s gone and gotten worse.
Woodlice have taken residence. They march in,
in their droves, taking cover under furniture, rugs and afore mentioned
skirting.
As if this isn’t horrific enough, this weekend
the following incident occurred.
I was hovering them up, kneeling on the sofa, stretching
elegantly over the back, hoover attachment in hand.
And then.
God, what a funny smell.
Jees is that burning?
Holy crap the hoover is smoking.
Oh god, it smells electrical.
*Sees sparks*
Oh, that’ll be my plugged in laptop cable being
chewed up by the angry looking smoking hoover.
*Moves at PACE to power supplies and narrowly
avoids electrical fire.*
What does this incident tell me? That hovering is
dangerous? That woodlice and laptops do not mix? That I really am that
stupid? I do not have time to answer. I have
people coming round and a house full of woodlice. Yes, I forgot to mention
that during its ‘meltdown’ the hoover spat out all of the woodlice I had spent
the previous hour exterminating.
I must get to work.
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