Thy name is dishes…and laundry, and mopping, and just cleaning in general. I have kids which means that you can set an egg timer on my clean living room. I can empty the dishwasher and there is literally already enough on the counter to fill it right back up again. How can my kids have so many clothes and run out of pants every week?
My husband I have decided to admit defeat. You win, Futility! We are going to steep ourselves in squalor, eat off paper plates, and turn our underpants inside out when we run out. We’re going to use disposable everything and pretty much single-handedly destroy the environment. We’ll order out every night and never use our pots and pans again. We’ll declare freedom from the mop! the duster! the vacuum! Dirt is good for you!
…at least, that’s what we tell ourselves. But then you change sides, you fickle Futility. Suddenly it is futile to fight the urge to straighten, to wipe, to cook, to launder. And for a moment – one beautiful moment – it is clean; the laundry done and put away, the counters clear, the dishes done, the floors shiny, and everything in its place. And then the children wake up…and you laugh at us.