So there I was in that post-Christmas state of being: wrecked after weeks of over indulging and crazy rushing about. And the house was even worse – a right state but now, with the children in bed early for once, I decided to finally set it to rights.
But first things first: a cup of tea and a half hour in front of the telly before I got down to work. But as soon as I’d settled on the couch and began flicking from channel to channel, I discovered that reality (or rather Reality TV) had taken over the telly.
Had I been less lethargic, had I something more interesting than cleaning the house to look forward to, I might have turned off the box and shifted myself but instead I stayed there channel-hopping.
On one channel were the nutcases (sorry celebrities) ensconced in the Big Brother house, such big celebrities that even they were still having trouble remembering the names of their fellow housemates (or should that be inmates). Since Big Brother seems to have become all about humiliating the participants, I quickly flicked. Big Brother or Big Bully?
On another channel there was that white-haired, rubber-gloved duo who, each week, visit a disgusting house. There, standing before them, were a couple of shamed-faced young girls who they were berating for their appalling lack of domestic hygiene and, even without the benefit of smell, it was clear to see that Aggie and her cleaning companion had a point: the girls’ mouldy bathroom truly did look nauseatingly filthy. Leaving the sheepish-looking young women to be further humiliated, I flicked over to another channel.
And here was Dr Gillian – humiliating another poor hapless participant (or victim) – a beautiful-looking young woman who weighed in at sixteen stone. Scrawny, po-faced Gillian and her jolly-looking and less scrawny companion were surveying a kitchen table piled high with food – the total amount the young woman had eaten in the last week: pizzas, fries, cream buns, chocolate, and not a green in sight.
Suddenly I had an EUREKA! moment. You see, it occurred to me that most of us dislike cleaning. That most of us eat more than we should. That most of us exercise less than is wise. That most of us often have no idea what to wear to flatter our figure. That most of us are vaguely dissatisfied with some aspect of our appearance. That most of struggle to balance our finances.
And what do most of us do? We do our best. We clean our house when we don’t feel like it. We go to the gym or cut down on our caloric intake when we feel our belts beginning to tighten. We try to balance our finances as well as we can. We struggle. Day in, day out. And do we get any thanks? Any recognition? Any help? Ha! Fat chance!
Meanwhile, on telly, people who haven’t so much as wiped their toilet bowl in over twenty years have two dynamo cleaners come and blitz their house from top to bottom, leaving it absolutely spotless. People who’ve spent a lifetime gorging on everything they fancy, are given their own personal trainer to work on them. People who, all their life, have spent money like there’s no tomorrow, are taken in hand by a financial wizard.
So, my EUREKA! moment was this: why not let my house and myself go to pot? Why not spend the next year ensconced on my couch indulging in boxes of chocolates, gallons of beer and six packs of crisps. Why not use the shopping channel to max out on my credit cards. Why bother dressing in the mornings? Hell, why bother even washing my teeth. Some reality TV shows, The Swan for instance, don’t just stop at helping you to lose a little weight but go the whole hog – cosmetic dentistry and surgery – the works.
And all for free. At least in monetary terms. But there was a catch, I saw. The only price one has to pay is the complete loss of one’s dignity.
I switched off the telly, got up from the couch and started cleaning.
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