It seems that with all the dating and romance, once we are married, life just evolves around two things, figuring out what to eat everyday, and busy working so we can put food on the table. I generally love cooking. Chopping up fresh ingredients, reading a new recipe accompanied by a glass of red wine is great, but cleaning up afterward is a entirely different story. If I had to spend an hour grocery shopping, another hour and half to cook, 15 minutes to eat dinner, and another two hours scrubbing pans and polishing the stove, I might as well just spend the rest of night complaining to my husband about the hardship of being a wife.
A couple of weeks ago I decided that since I already stopped shopping for clothes indefinitely, if we ate a little less we could afford a cleaning lady, and that's just what we did. I had several people coming in to give an estimate, one of them didn't speak English, another one had her shirt wore inside out, and then the last one walked out after hearing just how little we are willing to pay. Finally we found someone who is willing to put up with us, and after half a day of sweat breaking hard work my house is new again.
Two days after the cleaning lady left I was stilling discovering the spots that were transformed into a state of cleanliness that I could quickly getting used to, such as the inside of microwave oven and wall spot above the garbage can. The wonderful feeling I felt was close to love, or even better. If I had to make a poor analysis of it, it would be like receiving a two hour massage and getting a bucket of cash at the same time. Apparently, among the many things that a girl needs, nothing compares to having someone that can take a load of real life off of my shoulders even just for a few hours.
Now that the stove is clean and the kitchen is rescued from a state of chaos, my home restaurant is open again. Tonight's dinner? Japanese hot pot!
