What’s your least favorite household chore? I don’t think many people actually enjoy mopping, scrubbing toilets or doing laundry, but most of you probably have something you hate over others.
As an aside, I do have a couple of friends who might enjoy cleaning. It may be that they appreciate the end result; a clean house is worth the time spent taking care of it. People who don’t enjoy it outsource it, hiring a cleaning person or crew, hoping the hired help gets the job done. If you can’t hire anyone, you can live in filth or get to work.
No matter how much I dislike housework, my family deserves crumb-free floors and non-moldy toilet bowls. I can handle the basics. Like, the things that will start to smell if ignored always get done. If I don’t do them, my husband does. We’ve split the duties over the years. He takes out the trash. He deep cleans the bathrooms. He mows the grass. I cook, pick up after the kids, do laundry and who knows what else. It’s evenly divided-ish. Good enough for us.
The one thing I hate doing more than anything in the world? Scraping plates after dinner. It’s so nasty. Along those same lines, I won’t dig soggy food out of a drain. If you like doing that, you probably bathe in mayonnaise or something else gross.
When I think about it, scraping the leftover food into the sink or trash bag shouldn’t be that big of a deal. Most of the time, it slides right off the plate, and what doesn’t is easily removed with a utensil. If it’s that simple to you, you didn’t grow up with a dad like mine.
We’ve always tried to gross each other out. It takes a lot, really. Consequences of plate scraping top the list. My brothers and I had to clear the table and load the dishwasher, which I don’t think is all that uncommon. As we’d scrape the food, and most often with spaghetti, Dad would tell us we could have the leftovers for breakfast in the morning. Cold. Straight out of the trash bag. With milk.
He was kidding, of course. The memory of spaghetti in the not nearly opaque enough white trash bag lives in my very vivid memory, unfortunately. I will do the dishes in a pinch. I defer as often as possible.
A friend of mine thinks getting the food out of his toddler’s dinner chair is as nasty as it gets. He’s kinda right. Soggy goldfish and half eaten bits of chicken don’t exactly jar the appetite. In a moment of epic horror, his sweet daughter once fed him “chair watermelon.” He ate it, because she insisted, but he was practically in tears when he told the story.
I don’t think we should all live together or anything, but what if we could pool our resources? Like cleaning toilets? You get to clean all the toilets on the street this week, but you’re excused from all other chores. Your neighbor will take care of your chair watermelon, and her husband loves scraping plates. Mine doesn’t care for stringing lights on the Christmas tree, and I am not a fan of removing them. I wrap the branches too tightly, they practically have to be cut off the tree. Can we add seasonal decorating to our chore co-op? Our Chore-ography? Too much. Too clever.
Horrible name or not, I’m think I’m on to something. There’s something for everyone. Let me know if you’re in. Oh, and evening chores include a complimentary glass of bubbly, poured by me. That’s a job I’ll never mind. Cheers!