Hmm...so how do I turn this thing on? Ohhh, the whites and the colours need to be separated? I have to make the bed and fold my clothes? I get it, you're just messing with me. Haha, great April Fools prank! Oh, this isn't a practical joke? Bloody hell. Yes, the 13 year old version of me was quite perplexed after her first day at boarding school. The Brits really should have taken a few pointers about the dhobi phenomenon in India when they had the chance. It would have definitely made my life a little easier and my clothes would have retained their actual colour.
Domestic chores start off as an exciting adventure because you suddenly feel very self sufficient and independent, but don't let that fool you. Once the novelty of manual labour wears off, the adventure very quickly transitions to a painful experience; I suppose that explains why they're called "chores". Just two years ago I was still at college in good ol'Philly - washing the dirty dishes, excitedly whipping out the Swiffer to clean the apartment and grudgingly visiting the dingy basement (aka Le Dungeon) to do my laundry. On many occasions I remember running up the stairs, screaming like a 5 year old child who was high on sugar because the washing machine was not only home to my dirty clothes, it was primarily the lair for roaches (the big flying kind that have a tendency to sneak up on you). In hindsight, I'm convinced that Le Dungeon was also the playground for a happy family of mice - that would explain all the squeaking and scampering down there. Picture the evil furnace basement scene in Home Alone but ten times worse - Enough said. Imagine having to deal with all this mental trauma just to get my laundry done! Paying $2.25 for washing, drying and socialising with creepy crawlies...not my idea of a relaxing Saturday afternoon. I would much rather spend that moolah on Bubble Tea and experience infantile excitement while eating the tapioca bubbles. Now that's the good life.
Maybe I'm being a little harsh; some of the manual labour wasn't so terrible. I actually enjoyed the weekly dates with my trusty buddy, Swiffer. But then again, my enthusiasm to perform the weekly apartment cleaning ritual with Swiffer's help is almost insignificant when compared to my love for domestic help. It's a universally known fact that many Indians are ridiculously spoilt in this manner and don't bear the burden of doing domestic chores.Whether you're the proud of owner of a one bedroom apartment or a bungalow on Napeansea Road, you're privileged enough to have at least one part-time maid/cook as a valuable member of your familia. Hiring domestic help is our way of spreading the wealth - Indians are firm believers in the "sharing is caring" philosophy or at least that's how we justify it to the haters. FYI- Rahul (the suave cafeteria helper at my previous workplace) is the proud owner of a Blackberry Bold 3...actually I'm pretty sure he must have upgraded to the iPhone or an Android phone by now. Need I say more?
Judge me all you want but I would much rather come back to a "home sweet home" than dread the chores that await me after a long day at work.
Domestic chores start off as an exciting adventure because you suddenly feel very self sufficient and independent, but don't let that fool you. Once the novelty of manual labour wears off, the adventure very quickly transitions to a painful experience; I suppose that explains why they're called "chores". Just two years ago I was still at college in good ol'Philly - washing the dirty dishes, excitedly whipping out the Swiffer to clean the apartment and grudgingly visiting the dingy basement (aka Le Dungeon) to do my laundry. On many occasions I remember running up the stairs, screaming like a 5 year old child who was high on sugar because the washing machine was not only home to my dirty clothes, it was primarily the lair for roaches (the big flying kind that have a tendency to sneak up on you). In hindsight, I'm convinced that Le Dungeon was also the playground for a happy family of mice - that would explain all the squeaking and scampering down there. Picture the evil furnace basement scene in Home Alone but ten times worse - Enough said. Imagine having to deal with all this mental trauma just to get my laundry done! Paying $2.25 for washing, drying and socialising with creepy crawlies...not my idea of a relaxing Saturday afternoon. I would much rather spend that moolah on Bubble Tea and experience infantile excitement while eating the tapioca bubbles. Now that's the good life.
Maybe I'm being a little harsh; some of the manual labour wasn't so terrible. I actually enjoyed the weekly dates with my trusty buddy, Swiffer. But then again, my enthusiasm to perform the weekly apartment cleaning ritual with Swiffer's help is almost insignificant when compared to my love for domestic help. It's a universally known fact that many Indians are ridiculously spoilt in this manner and don't bear the burden of doing domestic chores.Whether you're the proud of owner of a one bedroom apartment or a bungalow on Napeansea Road, you're privileged enough to have at least one part-time maid/cook as a valuable member of your familia. Hiring domestic help is our way of spreading the wealth - Indians are firm believers in the "sharing is caring" philosophy or at least that's how we justify it to the haters. FYI- Rahul (the suave cafeteria helper at my previous workplace) is the proud owner of a Blackberry Bold 3...actually I'm pretty sure he must have upgraded to the iPhone or an Android phone by now. Need I say more?
Judge me all you want but I would much rather come back to a "home sweet home" than dread the chores that await me after a long day at work.
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