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The Undomestic Goddess (of Love).

2011 June 14

Last night, I cooked. And it wasn’t tacos. An occasion so rare, it warranted its own Facebook status update. An occasion so rare, it required a level of concentration that meant skater hubs had to put the kids to bed for me. An occasion so rare, it called for two glasses of Pinot Grigio. And that was before I tried to “thinly slice” a red onion with a knife…that was upside down.

But the meal survived. Chicken Milanese with arugula salad. And skater hubs loved it. Because he loves me. Upside down knife and all.

He also loves me even though I don’t know how to use our vacuum. He loves me even though I always break a sweat when I am ironing and end up throwing a half-wrinkled blouse on the floor and stomping off in a fury. He loves me even though I had to ask him how “we” mop the floors the other day. He loves me even though I pulled a flower bush out of the garden, convinced it was a weed, and the HOA fined us for it. He loves me for never wanting a big mansion, because all I see is more toilets to clean. He loves me for killing every plant we bring into the house (when I am not busy killing the ones outside). And he loves me for the stacks of old fashion magazines piled up everywhere that I refuse to part with, in case one may serve as “inspiration” for something, some day. I am not dirty, I am actually insanely neat, but a domestic goddess, I am not.

But now that I am officially GOOP-certified in the kitchen and decided to pick up My Father’s Daughter for research and added inspiration, I have a complete list of essential tools, gadgets, and of course, cute accessories, I am going to need for my new domestic side.

Oddly enough, when I presented it to skater hubs, he loved me not.

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