Scratching my own funny bone for shits and giggles. Lampooning books, music and being a single woman over 40. Recording observations with an almost Seinfeldian obsession for the minutiae of life. Things can get sweary around here. You understand.

Saturday, March 21, 2009

DOMESTIC FRACAS

Last night my daughter ran screaming from her bedroom after discovering a cockroach having a party with some old mates in her schoolbag. Wearing one of those helmets with a light attached and bearing a canary in a cage, I bravely entered the room to be poleaxed by the overwhelming stench of something fruity. Further investigations revealed a soggy apple and furry sandwich harvesting mutant spores in one of her many lunchboxes. After the requisite verbal spray, I surveyed the chaos at my feet and was filled with utter despair. You see the last time I tried to clean my daughter’s bedroom, the exercise took on all the logistics of an archaeological dig. Such is her pathological inability to differentiate ‘clean’ from ‘utterly filthy’ that I am convinced she suffers from a syndrome which warrants serious scientific investigation and classification. That way, when a parent starts to notice that their child has no sense of smell and registers abnormally high levels of adrenalin at the sight of a vacuum cleaner, one can stage an early intervention. It reminded me of share housing in 1988. Neil is the only person I've ever met that’s been able to strip down a Holley Carburettor and spread it across four hectares of floor space. In fact, his room proved he was a pioneer in the field of quantum messiness. His space was a hole of such infinite density that not even the light from his dusty lava-lamp could escape it’s gravitational pull. Amongst the fetid underpants, the empty tuna tins and the rancid bucket bong were washing machine parts, a hunting knife collection and a rumpled Credence Clearwater Revival poster. When challenged, Neil informed me somewhat imperiously, that it was all about ‘war preparedness’. It was important that he have all his things closely surrounding him should he ever be called upon to do night manoeuvres in the jungle. Riiiiight. In that case Neil, you’d better arm yourself with something more substantial than pizza boxes and an assortment of screws. By the way...your clothes basket asked me to report you to Amnesty International. I thought you should know.

20 comments:

Havock21 said...

Nat, not one hour ago, i chucked a benny and threatened to cut XBOX cables, if their fucking rooms were not cleaned up...JFWEPT, clothes, coke cans, fruit boxes, gatoraid, and you name it. Actually, stuff thats DEVELOPED and is NOT YET BLOODY WELL NAMED, I suspect as well. Ya not alone.

abefrellman said...

My first car had a Holley...used to get sh*tty mileage but went well.

My oldest's room is a no-go zone for me...she's having a friend over for a sleepover tonight and Boss Lady and I are skipping out to a party so the poor babysitter has 4 munchkins to contend with.

What is it with cleaning out lunchboxes? It has to be the single most common argument with our kids...seems like EVERY day!

Lou said...

Funny post Nat. I use threats. Son, 15, is always wanting something and so cleaning as required is just one of the many tools in my tool kit.

Big Bad Al said...

Natalie, Natalie, Natalie. You should know by now that the cleaning gene in the human does not kick in until the age of 25.

Mr Havock complained about this very same subject some time ago and he is still complaining about it.

There is no cure for Teenagus Messasaurus.

uamada said...

roll a couple of roach bombs in there and shut the door. do it at about 2am with the daughter in the room (shes to old for it to do any lasting genetic damage). The hint might be taken

Domestic Daze said...

With uamada on this one, that and hire a mini skip and get it placed just under their window and say you clean it or I do. Make sure you have slightly insane look on your face for better results.

Flinthart said...

Actually, your analogy to the share-house thing is apt. Reckon it's about time your daughter had to figure out how to contend with the Felafel Horrors. Nothing makes you appreciate mum nearly so much as figuring out how to deal with a dead bloke in the beanbag...

Barnesm said...

At nine I still have a while before I have to worry, will be looking towards folk such as yourself for tips on how to deal.

bangarrr said...

I guess I'm no longer a teenager. I've been in a month and the place is clean and tidy. Guess not wanting to watch a bulldozer finish the place makes a difference. How this helps you Nat I'm not sure, maybe pointing out that no bulldozers feature in the future of the house?

Simon Bedak said...

G'day (if this has finally bloody worked) - fucking thing never posts. NatV, if this gets thru let's catch up in Brizzy for the a beer nxt w/e'ish if you're around xSB xx

Simon Bedak said...

Hooray! it's worked - it worked!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Simon Bedak said...

Joy!!!!!!!!!!!!!

NATALIA THE RUSSIAN SPY said...

SQUIRE: I'll see you on opening night. I'll be the loner in the front row with the Cooper's Sparkling Ale!

BANG: Sometimes I wish I had a bulldozer my friend.

FLINT: I'm about to find out in wide screen feee-Ater.

BARNES: Find their currency. That is all.

UAMADA: I love a man of extremes.

D-D: I'm afraid the look of a maniac is all to familiar to her. She's immune ;-)

BBA: Twenty-five? Holy effing shite.

LOU: Cleaning not as a reward dear girl?

ABE: My ZH Falcon had one...it was SWEET!

HARRY: It's alright hon...count down the years. It helps.

Bondiboy66 said...

Spike Milligan described this condition in one of his war diary books as 'Space Cancer' (certain folks have an ability to fill any and all available space with their crap). My wife has it, as does my three year old son (he gets a pass due to his age). My other three sons (13,12 and 11) have it too. It must be a recessive gene because I don't have it. I just get to clean up after everyone.

Nautilus said...

I used to keep a motorcycle engine in the wardrobe.

Therbs said...

Dunno the answer. Sure she hasn't been killing and eating yabbies? Those buggers go to long lengths to exact revenge. Happened to me. Must be true 'cos its on my blog.

paulboylan said...

A messy room is a sure sign of an active mind. Natalie's daughter: Ignore them all! They do not understand! They think you live in unsanitary squaller. That is a lie! A big, fat Commie lie! Your room is NOT unsanitary! The stench does NOT indicate bacterial growth!

Your room is a reflection of the specific stage of your intellectual and spiritual development. Do not worry - in time you will transcend it by moving out and leaving the mess behind. That's how it works. AND if your mother really loves you, she will keep it exactly the way you left it.

Or, she will do what my mother did when she should I have left home: she snapped into action, threw out all my stuff and rented out my room.

Time will tell which fate awaits your room.

YsambartCourtin said...

Rubber gloves. Boxes. Chuck everything in boxes and put them under the house/ somewhere out of the way. When she wants something tell her where it will be. Remarkably, they often never ever ask.

Steve said...

My dad, the Astronomy professor, had an office that matched his profession.....textbooks stuffed into his book case (publishers sent him free copies, hoping he'll use theirs, which is how I got a free book, normally a $75 expense, when I took an Astronomy class in university), and had papers to be graded everywhere.

On his desk was a plaque that said, "A clean desk is a sign of a sick mind."

Steve said...

Oh, and there are worse things to find in a sharehouse situation. In my fraternity house, one of my friends was cleaning his room and came across a t-shirt stuffed under the bed. It was stiff as a board. He immediately discovered that it was the "clean-up rag" used whenever his roommate was participating in a little "self love."

He never looked under the bed again.

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