I know this blog is supposed to be about swimming and writing*. But because I've not been doing much of either lately, today my post is about my bloody family.
This is the story...
I arrive home from my holiday and nothing has changed. I know I was only away for 12 days, but I thought the deal was that absence makes the heart grow fonder.
That's garbage. And talking of garbage...
The house is a mess. I still don't have an oven that works and there's a hole in the wall for a dishwasher. The broken machine is next to the kitchen bench, its pipes pinned to its sides with masking tape.
The downstairs toilet reminds me of the latrine in the petrol station at Drummoyne. I will never ever in my life use that facility again, so that gives you an indication of the state of the dunny at home*.
The dog is scratching. Five hours later, I'm scratching like a maniac and youngest daughter Miss Hissy is covered in bites. I still can't figure out if it's the dog's fault or some microscopic bitey thing lurking in the unwashed bed linen.
My erstwhile eldest daughter Precious Princess is nowhere to be found. She's locked in some infinite hip-hop party diorama. Our only contact is via text message, where she informs me she is still alive and will 'be home soon'. Her room resembles the interior of the dog's kennel.
I have failed as a mother.
In the end, there's only one person to blame - my spouse, Spanner, who likes to dish out cliches such as, "Don't worry, be happy" and "Life goes on regardless" and "No one notices the mess but you."
I reckon the dog noticed it too. Or is that just wishful thinking on my part?
*Profuse apologies to those of you who expected this blog to be about swimming or writing.
*I could draw parallels to the Commonwealth Games Village in New Delhi, but I won't.
PS: Pic is of my dog sleeping peacefully on freshly laundered sheets.