“I hate the word housewife; I don’t like the word home-maker either. I want to be called Domestic Goddess.” Roseanne Barr
During the course of the last few days, it has crossed my mind that had I had the foresight to invest in an extended warranty, there is a good chance that a certain eight year old would be heading back to “You-Don’t-Know-What-You-Are-Getting-Yourself-In-For” Headquarters, Australasian Division.
We are sitting at breakfast and I am leafing through a bunch of junk mail. Mainly catalogues for the local collection of supermarkets (the older generations of Germans are a little nuts about their ‘catalogues’… but that is another story). So there I am, sorting; tossing the furniture and whitegoods into the recycling, flicking through the grocery pages, frowning at the “Have you got your Funeral Insurance covered”. Miss Eight leans across her muesli bowl and slides one of the catalogues over for a closer inspection. Then with wide eyes, looks at me and says, “Hey mum, you need to get this stuff, then you will be really happy and love doing housework!”
I peer over my specs to see what she is referring to, only to find myself confronted by this picture:
Further more, she is deadly serious and I am gobsmacked.
“You do know that sweeping the kitchen floor is still work, even if the broom is pink!” I am having serious doubts about whether or not I will keep this particular child once the lease expires.
“Of course I do, but if you also wore the pretty gloves and put on some lipstick, then you would be just like the lady in this picture, and she looks really happy.”
And to think… I could have bought a goldfish.