They use home hair colours and trim their hair with nail scissors while my hair was done professionally and finished off with a gorgeous blowdry...I'm definitely betraying the jobless.
Although I am now sitting on the couch while my beloved makes pumpkin and potato soup, I'm reversing the gender roles somewhat, and rather enjoying it. Sit on the couch and watch the footy while the man you love makes soup, why would I do it any other way?!
Although I am about to make a contribution to the household by ironing the work shirts, technically they're work and interview shirts, if we want to get specific. Every day, I wake up, and head to my interview, so I have interview shirts, I don't think it would be fair to the shirts to call them work shirts. After all they only do one or two hours a day, and I don't want them to get a shock when they actually become work shirts and are forced to do 8 or 9 hours in a row. Poor things are going to struggle when that happens, so its safer and kinder to remind them what they really are - interview shirts.
My beloved on the other hand has work shirts, and they deserve that title. They work hard, and I give them respect when ironing them. Work shirts need to know the contribution they are making to my beloved's body by doing what they do best, working.
I have to admit I have a bit of a thing about ironing. In no other part of my life am I at all anal and specific about anything. I don't make the bed everyday, sometimes I'll forget to put a glass in the sink and leave it in the lounge, and more often than not, my dirty clothes don't always immediately make it to the laundry basket. Not that it's intentional, I just have ALOT of other things on my mind, primarily checking everyone's updated status on Facebook or checking out Judge Judy - which means sometimes, sacrifices have to be made, and in that case its taking my used glass to the sink. The glasswear in the house understands that, and they do their bit for the team.
Ironing on the other hand, I am ridiculously anal about, in fact any airforce base in this country would be proud to recruit me. My arm creases are perfect, and there is no chance of anyone leaving the house with crumpled clothes. Any woman or man who lets their woman or man out of the house wearing an unironed shirt should be ashamed of themselves. In fact there may even be a Page of Shame, or I may be lying.
So while watching Australian Idol, I will be ironing away and while I'm ironing, I will of course be ensuring that I provide my professional comments regarding contestants/judges/the relief at seeing that idiot Kyle Sandilands off Idol.
Right, better get that ironing board ready.
No comments:
Post a Comment