chickenshoot (chickenshoot) wrote,
chickenshoot
chickenshoot

Convenience



I get really tired of this image in magazines and tv: the smiling white mom with a sky blue shirt, tan pants and blonde hair. She's happily lugging a bag of brown paper bag of groceries with the required green carrot-tops hanging over the side. If she isn't carrying groceries, she staring at the fridge with the utmost concern for what she can cook to please her children that won't take longer than five minutes, or she's eyeballing some mess she's gonna clean up pronto with her favorite products.



I've noticed the "mom" is increasingly becoming brunette, but she still wears the same uniform and finds the same unbridled joy in cleaning her already ridiculously spotless house. Holy crap there's a tiny puddle of grape juice (feigned semi-grief, then wide I-KNOW-JUST-WHAT-TO-DO toothy smile)---I'm getting my super strong paper towels, mega clean-up spray with antimicrobial fire-power, and I'm going to town on that stain. JUST THE RIGHT PRODUCT will make this housework a breeze, if not outright thrilling.



Hell, nowadays supermom doesn't even bend down. There's a semi-disposable mop with disposable cloths and a cleaner that sprays itself on the damn floor. There's a similar gadget for dusting. What supermoms don't seem to notice is that if you buy enough disposable cloths and special products, you could actually spend the same to have a maid to clean that shit up. Oh, but no maids!---we have to see supermom finish wiping up a stain and then put her hand on her hip to survey and smell the kitchen with smugness that only a happy cleaner can experience.

Maybe she's so happy about cleaning because she keeps putting the bottles RIGHT UP TO HER DAMN NOSE to directly inhale the vanilla/jasmine/sweetpea/orchid-scented detergent and floor cleaners. It makes her eyes close, and she dreams of floating in the sea or of animated flowers flying by. Shoot, she's high.



The smart, hip supermom can also consume and dole out snacks/meals with quick, convenient cleverness. Eating with a spoon is such a pain that she has started drinking her yogurt. Kids can't be bothered with spoons either, so yogurt is in a long tube that they can rip open and suck on. She buys an array of things that require the least amount of hand/mouth contact and coordination, and she longs for the day that she can load up 100% nutrition into a dart that she can blow right into the kid's neck as he whisks by. That will allow her more time to rub the freshly-cleaned laundry against her cheek and hallucinate about bears and gardens.



House-cleaning sucks. Don't pretend that pretty smells make it beautiful and orgasmic for women.

Creepy TV moms aside, 10% of my brain is still saying "HOLY CRAP, I'VE GOT MY OWN HOUSE" as I clean, which makes all housework a little more tolerable, but I'm certainly not getting off on the fragrances. In fact, I usually buy everything unscented. Last time I slipped and got some "natural" ying-yang (or a flower with an equally stupid spelling) flavored bath cleaner, the smell permeated the whole house and my lungs. I coughed all day, but no cool hallucinations.



P.S. I should thank someone for the use of the many different copyrighted photos of generic women doing housework, but I won't. They'll have to come and get me.
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