Some people are born to mop. You see them on television commercials all the time -- fretting about the relative luminosity of one floor care product over another as if they believe the correct choice is the key to eternal prosperity and peace.
I don't buy it.
For obvious reasons pots, pans and plates need to be clean. The same theory applies to laundry, food preparation and serving surfaces. In the absence of large piles or anything sticky, everything else is quite negotiable.
It's not just a matter of personal energy conservation.
If I were to clean all the pet hair from all the baseboards in the house, we could form at least another dog and probably several cats from the proceeds. Four years ago, we agreed there would be no additional pets in this house. I am simply doing my part.
Running the vacuum cleaner kicks my allergies into overdrive, so the task is best reserved for a day I really want to avoid my writing and thus punish myself by feeling physically miserable. It's a great impetus to keep me at the computer.
Even the most vigilant housekeeper finds dust bunnies when they move furniture. I have menacing dust jackals. The obvious solution is provide them a protected habitat. I don't move furniture.
Screw it. Even Carol Brady had live-in help... and she didn't have an overdue manuscript.
When I feel creative in the kitchen, we have wondeful meals. When I'm crunched for time and energy, we improvise quickie meals together. The dinner time conversation is just as good either way and there are usually fewer dishes to wash with option two.
Folks around this place understand the concept of self-maintenance. My daughter is exceptionally neat, my husband exceptionally tolerant. He was a self-sustaining bachelor through his mid-thirties and thus can cook, clean, iron and even hem his own slacks. Tasks are divided by who has the time and energy. I don't remember a day when I got to the end of my to-do list or ever having to serve time for the crime of non-completion.
No child has ever been attacked by a dust bunny. No spouse envied for his razor sharp pleats.
As the Martha Stewart trial winds down, much attention has been given to the zealousness of her prosecution. Is Wall Street making an example of her as a strong woman in business? Is it a pendulum swing from the go-go marketplace of the 90s? The re-establishment of a regulatory beachhead?
Or maybe, just maybe, there is a female prosecutor who also believes that we have no obligation to rescue dust bunnies, let alone use our glue guns and grosgrain ribbon to make them into party favors.
Malicious prosecution? Maybe.
Delicious revenge? Absolutely.

Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs