Boo hoo! Female Celebs Miss This

I have never understood female celebrities who wipe their eyes, wring their hands, and lament the terrible burden of not being able to kick back, relax and get down to some decent housework.

Please.

Supermodel Gisele Bundchen claims she likes to “go to people’s houses and start cleaning their dishes.” Actress Drew Barrymore says she “gets into” scrubbing toilets. Oscar-winner Julia Roberts loves to do laundry.  Heiress Paris Hilton says she thinks “it’s fun to be domestic.”

Fun?  Ladies, if you’re digging chores the way you’re professing, well, you’ve got to come on down and let ol’ Annie show you a real good time.

For starters, you simply must sleep over, because, tee hee, the domestic fun kicks up first thing in the morning in this gal’s house.

Here’s a typical day:  I get up, stumble barefoot toward the kitchen, and step in a present the cat has deposited in the hallway.  This lovely gift – a precious conglomerate of hairball, cat food and warm digestive juices – is never left on the wooden floor, where it would be easy to wipe up.  Oh no, it’s left on the only Oriental I own.  And the squishy feeling between my toes?  Priceless.   

Fifteen minutes of cleaning later, I make my way to the kitchen, where Sven, the hunky servant, is not waiting with a maraschino-topped grapefruit and a frothy cappuccino.  What’s typically waiting is hardened macaroni in a pan from the night before, a sink of dirty dishes, no milk for coffee, and a full can of trash.

At this point, Ladies, I’m usually so happy I twirl around in the kitchen (in true Mary Tyler Moore form), throw my dingy dishtowel up in the air, and shout, “You’re gonna make it after all!”  

Buoyed by my little song and dance, I then walk briskly to the laundry room to gauge what’s waiting to widen my smile in there. More often than not, it will be everything I could ever hope for and more.  Like woolen socks with imbedded burrs (a perennial favorite).  Grease stains on white shirts (always good for a guffaw).  Red wine on heirloom napkins (enough to make me high-five the washer).  And, of course, a pile so big I collapse to the floor in paroxysms of joy (life doesn’t get any better).

The merriment continues when I drag out the vacuum cleaner.  Honestly, I’m usually so giddy at this point I can barely plug the dang thing in the socket.  Between snickers and giggles – pet hair can be so entertaining! – I suck up enough dander to blanket the world several times over.

And to think:  I get to do this all over again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next!

Housework?  Fun?  Uh, no.  It’s only fun when you never do it.  It’s only fun when someone’s simultaneously giving you a pedicure.  It’s only fun when there’s a Lear jet waiting to take you to Tahiti at the end of your little chore.

So, Ladies, please quit yakking about your love affair with housework.  It doesn’t ring true.  And it burns our brooms whenever you turn our hard, forced labor into a kitschy diversion.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to amuse myself with some side-splitting shower scum.

Originally published in Messenger Post Newspapers