The Unfeasibly Annoying Challenges of Clingwrap
Killer Espresso Martini? Sorted. 7 different kinds of massage? I’ve got you covered. Shimmying up to the top of a marquee pole in a tight skirt? Been there got the t-shirt. These are just some of the random skills I have managed to acquire over the years, which sometimes prove surprisingly useful and have certainly kept life entertaining. This is all well and good however now that my life has taken a slightly more sedate family-rearing turn I have come to the realisation that I am not particularly blessed in the domesticity department, likely due to too much time spent engaging in the sorts of pursuits listed above.
I don’t think this is neccessarily a bad thing as I’m way to outspoken and lazy to aspire to any kind of 1950’s housewifely ideal, (apart from the gin habit) although there does seem to be a bit of a resurgence of this going on in society of late. But there are some basic tasks that I find unduely difficult or just down-right mystifying in the world of home-making and domestic queenliness.
Here’s what I suck at:
Wrapping sandwiches in cling wrap – I think whoever invented cling wrap is sitting back in their plastic coated control room laughing evilly at hidden camera videos of people trying to a: find the free edge of the roll b: attempt to extract it from the packet without it twisting and sticking to itself or the user and c: try to wrap sandwiches so that there are no bits hanging out or it looking like the fort knox of sandwich security. In short, me and cling-wrap don’t mix. Am I alone on this one?
Hanging out washing – pegging ettiquette is a minefield that I have not yet mastered, perhaps because I have lived in places where either the tumble-dryer is a must or a clothes horse is the equipment of choice but everyone I have stayed with seems to have a different method of where and how to hang up various items of clothing. Shirts are the worst, is it under the arms on the seam at the bottom hem on a coat hanger over the line??? I am always second-guessing myself and nervous that the grand-poobah of linen laundering may be lurking in the hedge marking me on my pegging prowess. Paranoia you say?
Ironing in general – I don’t know what it is about the act of pressing clothing with a hot piece of metal that drives me to distraction but I suspect it is the fact that no matter how carefully I press and fold I always manage to create creases where they shouldn’t be, spit rusty iron water on white clothing from the wrong setting or at times even singe iron shaped marks into shiny materials. I should be banned, in fact I have sworn a vow to only by iron-free clothing or at least hang out in very steamy bathrooms to counter the crepe factor.
Baking – Ok I haven’t given up hope that my latent baking goddess gene will kick in, maybe when we are living in our own place again and the kitchen is on the same floor, but based on past attempts at channeling my inner Martha Stewart or (Alison Holst for you Kiwi’s out there) the results have been less than satisfactory. I know this comes down to pure scatter-brained distraction, I’m not a methodic cook and I tend to avoid doing things by the book in many aspects of life but this particular trait doesn’t serve me well, mainly because I tend to leave out key ingredients or mix up what I’m putting in when so that my cakes crumble to pieces and biscuits would be more useful on the front line than anyones mouth. I can make a mean Beer Bread, and that’s food with alcohol in it – win win.
It is a general revelation to me that there are actually home-keeping tasks that I never even knew existed in the real world (and in fact still don’t in our household) these include pressing bed linen (I get it in hotels but for home? Its only gonna get creased as soon as you sleep in it!)
In my defence, I am wierdly obssessed with floor cleaning (well at least the other half thinks so) and tend to compulsively pick offending items off this lowly surface all day long, followed by bouts of manic sweeping, vacuuming and carpet inspecting. But this is probably beacuse my hair falls out like a malting cats’ and my toddler leaves a trail of destruction and crumbs with every step.
I’m not sure how I came to be so ill-equipped to deal with these basic tasks, it can’t be inherited as if you were to visit my mothers house you’d notice fridges and in fact freezers stocked for world war 3 with preserves, scones, home-grown vegetables, stews, soups – you name it. The beds are perfectly made, the benches sparkling clean, the ironing dealt with in an efficient manner. But I’ll have to inspect mums cling-wrapping skills next time I’m home for clues to my own issues in that department.
Reassure me here, I can’t be the only one that is unco on the home front….anyone? ANYONE?
Don’t suffer alone: being domestically-challenged is a common problem affecting hundreds of thousands of us who can’t focus long enough to complete the task at hand!