Domestic bliss for the undomesticated

HAVE you heard about the Non-Domestic Goddess Club (NDGC)?

Well it operates under the slogan “nature abhors a vacuum and so do we” and dishes out vital advice from managing husbands and teenagers to dealing with mountains of washing and underwear drawers.

I already manage my husband very effectively indeed as he does not live in my house and therefore does not get underfoot and annoy me.

The Sitting Tenant (Dad), who moved in for two weeks almost two years ago, has finally moved out and into his new abode, so, no longer needs management (phew).

Incidentally, while I love my dad very much indeed, I discovered that I regressed to the moody teenager while he lived in my house while he treated me like a five-year-old – so we are better living apart. But we did have a jolly time when we went out for dinner last week when he force-fed me profiteroles and ice cream, just like he did when I was two.

Fact: Some things will never change.

However, the Teen does live at home and needs managing.

I have seen no evidence of any homework being completed for the three hefty A levels she has embarked upon.

She complains about every single dinner I cook, most recently the roast lamb I slaved over yesterday.

I found some frostbitten Aunt Bessie’s Yorkshire Puddings at the bottom of my freezer and, not caring, I chucked them in with everything else only to be told by my dining guests that they tasted like stale poppadoms. However, the Teen has never cooked anything at all, apparently because her teacher in Year 5 told her to marry a chef following some sort of smoothie debacle. She is taking this as fact and has never lifted a finger.

She has never ironed or vacuumed and probably doesn’t know where these machines live, let alone how they work.

However, to be fair, Henry is a death trap – particularly after the Farmer, who can usually be relied upon for his machinery skills, didn’t close it properly and the whole thing (which weighs about a ton and is the most cumbersome thing on wheels) fell onto my foot. I almost ended up in plaster.

I have to do a bus chase every week because the Teen is notoriously late and misses it on the one day she has to catch it.

According to the Teen I have ruined her life. I am mean just because I stole all her spare cash to pay for my waxing and I don’t know anything.

And she says my hair looks like a cross between Keith Lemon’s and Noel Fielding’s and my fashion sense dates back to 1924.

To save me from becoming a nag and getting frown lines I have turned to the NDGC, who advise me to give up or go deaf. I did both – and went one step further. I’ve given ALL my parenting responsibilities to the Dog.

Let’s see how that works. I am going to book into a health farm for a week for a little lie down.

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