In case you haven’t noticed, I am not June Cleaver. June was always busy with her housewife-ly duties. Never once did the camera catch her, still in her nightgown, reading a trashy novel in the middle of the morning. Nope. She was always dressed from pearls down to pumps, along with a cute little apron, serving up that nourishing breakfast for Ward and the boys. Or vacuuming. She did a lot of vacuuming. Maybe the sponsor for “Leave it to Beaver” was Electrolux. If not, they missed a good opportunity.
I wonder if June had a chore chart to make sure she got it all done. It must have been better than any of mine. I’ve tried all kinds of plans–Do everything one day a week; Do a little each day; Do nothing and catch up just before company arrives.
From what June showed us of her personality, she liked housekeeping. Why else would she get dressed up for it? And maybe that’s my problem. I don’t much like it. Don’t get me wrong. I love a clean and orderly house. I just don’t like what you have to do to get one.
And there always seems to be something I’d rather do. Like gardening or reading or going somewhere with a friend. I never saw June doing any of that. Oh, once in awhile she would sit on the couch in the evening and share the newspaper with Ward. Big deal.
Like, right now, I should be doing something other than writing. I should be asking myself, “WWJD” What would June do? I can hear Dust and Grime settling in around me, making remarks like, “You only have yourself to blame if it’s twice as hard to clean us up when you finally get around to it.”
But I keep on writing. I don’t own any high heels, and my pearls need to be restrung.