A woman’s work is never done

I hate to say this for the whole world to see, but I guess I’d better: The amazing blonde is letting the housework go downhill fast.

And I’m the one having to pay for it.

Just last week she decided to spend the better part of a week down in Houston visiting Rachel and our grandbabies Little Dewey and Pretty Eyes. I didn’t have too big of a problem with that, except she seemed to forget to set up a replacement on having the house cleaning chores handled.

After a couple of days, things started to pile up and get dusty and messy, so I called her and told her about the situation and asked her what I was supposed to do. I don’t know if I made myself clear or not, because her only response was, “Duh???”

A couple of more days passed, which included another 48 hours of Charlie’s dragging sticks and tree leaves into the house, so I’d had about all I could take. I was just about to call the amazing blonde again to give her a little piece of my mind, but I figured out another way. I decided to do the housework myself. That would show her.

So I went to work. Well, not right away. I had to go to the store first to get some supplies and some snacks in case I worked up an appetite. I was home from the store in an hour, then buckled my chin strap and got after it. I was already a bit tired when I got home, so I wasn’t overly excited about having to do all of this kind of work after a hard day’s work. But I did it anyway.

I got the broom and swept all the wooden floors and the bathroom and my study.

I got the mop and scrubbed the same floors, making sure I could see my reflection in every room.

I washed three loads of clothes.

I fixed the commode that had a little problem with the handle.

I swept the front porch, but after a minute I had to sit down in the rocker for a while to catch my breath.

I put all of the dishes in the dishwasher. I wasn’t sure how to turn the crazy thing on, but I figured the dirty dishes would at least be out of sight when the amazing blonde got home.

I pulled clothes out of the washer and put them in the dryer, and I took clothes out of the dryer and put them on the couch so she could see how many clothes I’d washed while she was gone. I didn’t want her to think that I couldn’t function smoothly without her.

After a couple hours of work - including the half hour I rocked on the front porch snacking on a Twinkie - I finally wiped my brow, blew the hair out of my face, sighed, and sat down to rest.

But I didn’t sit long before it hit me: A hard working man should not have to come home from a day’s work and do this kind of work. It’s just not fitting. So I picked up the phone and called the amazing blonde. I didn’t mince my words, either. I told her it just wasn’t right! I went right down the list and itemized everything I’d done, even throwing in a few others for effect. Somehow she couldn’t seem to understand, and after a minute we got a bad connection and the phone hung up.

So I thought I’d try Rachel’s line. I knew that my daughter - the amazing blonde, part 2 - would appreciate her dad.

She didn’t disappoint.

As soon as I explained all that I had done to get this ol’ house in order, my sweet, understanding daughter gave me all the sympathy that I deserved. She said,

“Pooooooor baby.”