I was born with a brain deficiency. There is an absence of the domestic chromosome necessary to motivate me to successfully do housework. I was 27 before I realized that a discussion about Hoover upright was about a vacuum cleaner and not about the posture of a past president. I also was surprised to learn that Comet is a name of a household cleanser and not a heavenly body in the sky.

I have no inclination to do housework and find excuses to avoid it on a routine basis. Do I not feel well? Is today a good day to get my gums scraped? Is it a holiday somewhere in the world today? These are just a few thoughts that leap through my head as I look at the clutter piling up on tables and chairs. When I was a child, if I left clutter of any type around the house, it was always mysteriously picked up and properly stored. Dishes left in the sink always were cleaned and found their way back to the cupboard. As I got older, I discovered there really ! was not a mystery to this activity. Mom was running around picking up after my family and me. While I write my name in the dust on my dining table, I pause and wonder – Am I adopted? How could I be the offspring of the original Happy Homemaker?

Glancing over the sink provides me with a view of stacks of dishes and glasses that are calling for attention. Do I really want to do the dishes? My domestic-deficient brain working on all cylinders decides that this is not a good idea. I grab my purse and car keys and head out to the neighborhood Drug Mart. I purchase paper plates and plastic utensils to avoid the dishes in my sink still begging to be washed. After all, it is a national holiday, somewhere in the world.

When I return home and store my purchases in my empty cupboard, I am faced with more clutter, dust and laundry. I take a mental inventory of all the household chores and determine that the laundry basket is the next household demon I must battle. Where ! is good old Mom when I need her? Is there something on TV I neglected to watch? If I close my eyes and wish real hard, maybe the laundry basket will disappear. My fully charged brain provides me with an answer I find acceptable. I once again grab my bag and car keys and make a quick trip to Kmart. A few clothing items are purchased to assist me in getting through a few more days without facing the demon laundry basket. Being a domestic brain deficient person can be challenging and expensive.

Yet I have accepted my fate. The dust bunnies under my bed are now becoming dust monsters. I can write my grocery list in the dust on my table. I pause to contemplate one last solution to current household chore crisis. I thumb through the Yellow Pages for Maid Service for the domestically challenged. I breathe a sigh of relief as I discover several pages of maid services to contact. I dial the phone and contact a maid service that specializes in unique cases and ask for emergency assistance. I am advised they will be at my home within an hour! . While I wait for my maids, I take two aspirins and lie down on my couch. My domestic-deficient brain had quite a workout today and needs a rest. Housework can be so exhausting.