nothing like a clean white shirt on a man, I always think. Ever since I
married Graham, I’ve taken a pride in the state of his clothes when he
goes off to work, and there’s not much that satisfies me like a row of
clean white shirts on the washing line.
like all kinds of housework, and I’m pretty efficient at it – after
all, I’ve had a lot of practice. I don’t understand how some women find
time to go to work or raise a family. Each morning I can’t wait to pack
Graham off to work so that I can start. I keep a duster and a can of
Pledge by the front door so that the minute he leaves, I can snatch it
up and get straight on, doing a grand tour of all the rooms, before I
get the hoover out for another circuit.
has to be the favourite weapon in my armoury, which, I have to say, is a
powerful one. You should see my broom cupboard – I have 17 different
cleaning products in there, and I’m proud to say I use every one every
shortcut is worth taking when it comes to housework , but I do believe
in trying to make life a little easier for myself. I keep the place tidy
and wash the pots the minute I’ve finished using them to avoid the risk
of spills. I use only the purest, clearest soap and shampoo in the
bathroom, and I gave up wearing make-up a long time ago – it was just a
constant source of anxiety as to whether I’d end up with a smudge of
rouge on a blouse or cardigan, and as to nail varnish – well, I wouldn’t
have it in the house.
course, that’s not to say the dirt doesn’t come sneaking into my house
when I’m not looking. Take last night, for example. Graham came home,
rather later than usual. His dinner was quite dried up in the oven by
the time he sat down to eat it, but it didn’t seem to bother him
particularly. He wolfed it down and seemed anxious to get out of the
kitchen to go and get changed. But he didn’t escape before I’d noticed
the scarlet smudge on his collar as I leant over his shoulder to sweep
his plate and cutlery away to the washing up bowl.
“Goodness gracious me!” I exclaimed. “Is that lipstick on your collar?”
Graham opened his mouth but said nothing.
“You just take that shirt off this minute!” I cried. “I must get it in
the wash before it stains! After all, I don’t want people thinking I
neglect my husband’s needs.”
He slipped it off as quick as he could, ripping off one of the cuff
buttons in his haste, and left the room at a run. I sometimes wonder why
he isn’t more grateful to have such a devoted wife.