valet desired

Allo ether.

I am home. Where I should be luxuriating in aferwork-pants and lululemon bra top, drinking mint tea and reading wonderfully comfy books while waiting for the thai curry to be ready - ya know, the one I'd be cooking. But, I am not. Instead I sit in front of my computer, typing this inanity and cursing dishes.

I loathe doing dishes. L o a t h e it. But I do enjoy clean dishes and there is nothing truly dreadful about the process of the dish doing but, yet, still, I loathe doing the dishes. The soap is not a problem the dirty food is not an issue and the water - well - I do heart The Water so WHAT is my problem. It is all exceedingly illogical and I am, of course, always logical (proof: nicknamed Spock in high school).
But instead of doing the dishes I sit here, in the mid-dark, still in going-into-the-office clothes (including nylons, ghastly things), denying myself relaxation because the kitchen is haunted by dirty dishes. Dirty dishes, a necessary task I am shirking. So blather blather blather instead. This is so very shades of nine-years-old.

This is why men are handy to have about. Despite what I hear, men have always been good dish-doers in my experience. Even if they are not their dirty dishes. They come home from work and do dishes. They arrive from long trips and do dishes. They spend the day @ your house, visiting, and somehow always do the dishes. All without (obvious) remuneration. There are no requests, no pleadings, no suggestions for it to be done; it simply is. Rather like the shoe shining. But that is another topic for another day.

This is why one truly needs a male companion. For dish doing. A dish doing fairy/elf/troll will be fine.

Maybe it is the case that not all men are like that, I just happen to be attracted to men who, alongside being inordinately sexy and skilled in many, myriad ,various ways ALSO have wide-ranging domestic streaks. Or maybe I bring it out in them. At least in the dish doing. They even quietly do the really yucky ones from recipe experiments gone awry.

But doing my laundry is all mine.

Well. Except for that time ...

....

I really should do the dishes.

I know I will feel much better after the damn dishes are done. And, yet, I still sit here, typing nonsensically, conjuring up distracting questions like: Who made names names? Will he kiss well?(yup!) Who made that disguised late night phone call sans message? Where can I get a good bag for my skis? Of course, such tactics only really work when there is someone to be distracted. aha! me!

This is ludicrous. dishes will be done. now.

But first! one must strip and get out of these damn nylons.

such a bloody ....

numpty: (nump-tì). Scottish usage.
a) Someone who (sometimes unwittingly) by speech or action demonstrates a lack of knowledge or misconception of a particular subject or situation to the amusement of others.
"No. That wisnae wit she meant, ya big numpty!"
b) A good humoured admonition, a term of endearment
i.e. "Silly billy, you big numpty"
c) A reckless, absent minded or unwise person
"That numpty's driving with no lights on!"

But my favourite definition is:

numpty: A person who never has or never will have a fucking clue what he is doing. — Bobby Gould

From the Urban Dictionary.

dinner

steak and green beans tonight.

the revolution continues.

(albeit, still intermittantly. Soy isolyte for breakfast in the a.m.! num!)

Reading: Democracy, a history by John Dunn