Are you leaving that there…?

An article by Maggie Gordon-Walker    Comments Off

It is a truth universally acknowledged that your own household habits are perfectly rational, while those of your significant other make you froth at the mouth. Austen didn’t pen that, purely because she had staff to ensure her delicate writing hands didn’t get dirty, but had she been down that kitchen, she would have, you mark my words.

For any men wandering onto the site assuming that this is another female moaning on about useless blokes, let me reassure you I don’t care one jot about the position of the toilet seat. As in, whether it’s up or down when I make a visitation. Men mostly need it up, so I don’t get self-righteously indignant over that. I’m just cataloguing some of the irritants I have been privy (ho ho!) to. Indeed some of these I am (sshhh!) guilty of.

“Chaos Order Buttons Show Disorder Or Management” by Stuart Miles

Whilst we’re still in the bathroom, the leaving the lid off the toothpaste is annoying, though perhaps inevitable. Why though, remove the toilet roll from its holder and leave it stranded in the middle of the floor like a chick fallen out of the nest? Perhaps it should have a conversation with the soap marooned from its dish eluding you with a satisfying slippery thud to the depths of the bath when you attempt to rescue it.

Towels generally don’t dry when they are in a scrunched up ball in the corner of another room. Or in an impressive origami shape on the towel rail. And the bathmat is not improved by leaving it on the floor, then walking over it with shoes that have just come in from the outside.

Moving to the bedroom, look at the lovely laundry basket in the corner. Wouldn’t it be a good idea to put the dirty clothes in it rather than removing them from one’s person and leaving them on the floor next to it? Never mind about that, feeling a bit sleepy, let’s go to…Where’s the fricking bed?! Oh thank God, there it is. I nearly missed it, for it is strewn with 417 discarded ‘going out’ clothes and the cushions arranged in an attempt to resemble an artful catalogue picture but really looking like they have wandered up from the sofa.

Lastly, the locale for much significant washing-up, the kitchen. I say significant because, when irked, someone can wash up extremely loudly with much banging and clanking of pots. There is also the bigging-yourself-washing-up, whereby you wash lots of large plates and the like to show how much you’ve done, leaving the cutlery and small items languishing at the bottom of the sink. Or the tidying instead of washing-up, where all the dirty items are neatly piled up to create the illusion of a tidier kitchen. And the surfaces aren’t wiped.

The fridge is another bone of contention, full of jars of the same thing at various degrees of consumption. Some people, it would seem, seize the first jar/carton that comes to hand without looking to see if another is already in use. Or put an empty back in the fridge, ensuring a howl of rage when you realise your egg mayo sarnie will have to just be egg.

Pulling anything out of the freezer results in a cascade of peas all over the floor. If it doesn’t happen then, you can bet your bottom dollar it will when you try and decant some peas into your boiling water. All round the world, shrivelled peas that rolled away lurk in dark corners of kitchens.

As you are putting away the aforementioned washing-up, you valiantly try to find lids for all the little plastic pots there seem to be. Where have the lids all gone? Perhaps to a magic land, together with the odd socks, lonely peas and working ballpoint pens.

Maggie Gordon-Walker