Christmas cleaning - Somebody kill me and end my miseries!

It never ceases to amaze me why I willingly put myself through this agony every year. And I know I'm but one of many who HATES Christmas cleaning.It sux toefarts! I'm glaring at the bucket and the mops with such loathing right now, it's a wonder they don't disintegrate into nothingness in shock and horror.  My dog senses the HATE. She just sneaked out to hide in the hallway pretending she's invisible. She hates Christmas cleaning too....well, she hates all forms of cleaning in general and the vacuum cleaner in particular.

I contemplated killing myself by cutting my throat open with the mop, but realized it'd be too slow a death. I'd get bored our of my mind long before I died. Then in my insane boredom, I'd scrub the place so thoroughly that when the hubby come home from work he'd be convinced I'm no longer me, but an alien impersonating his wife and kill me in a most horrible and painful way, making such a mess my house would never be clean ever again. And pieces of me would be imprinted in the wallpaper for evermore...Gross!

I could also break one of my legs. Just that with my luck, I'd be stuck doing the Christmas cleaning anyway. With my leg broken and in plaster. It would take me three times longer and be a lot more painful..

Why bother at all, you ask? What do I think would happen? Would the world come to an end?  I've wondered myself for years.One sad, but true answer is that I'm a wuzz. Plain and simple.

I fear that if I didn't, the kids would be embarrassed our house was dirtier than all the others and claim I totally ruined Christmas and hate me. And hubby would claim I'm a lousy wife unable to keep my house clean and then he'd blame it on the troll and goblin books I read - he calls all sci-fi and fantasy books that, including the LOTR - and he'd forbid me to read any more. That would really make me miserable and then I'd make EVERYBODY miserable with my misery and self pity. And what good would that do?!?

The other reason is because, quite possibly, I could go truly crazy and become a psychopathic mass murderess and start a world scale killing spree, and then I wouldn't know how to stop and in the end I'd eat the sun and everything would die and disappear. I'd be all alone. And sad. It could happen.

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Oh, here's the photo of my sassy embroidered lady:

I'm relieved I didn't chose a career as a sewer. I'd be living under the bridge by now... Keep in mind that this was taken with my sister's lousy cellphone camera and before the finishing touch of ironing, etc. We just wanted to see it framed so badly we couldn't wait...

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And now to work! Dust Bunnies and Grime Imps beware! ...if I don't show up again ever again, I drowned myself in soap water. And since nobody will be there to hear them, I put my last words here. Just in case

So long and thanks for all the shit

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PS! My house Imp, that now resides in the dishwasher, senses the HATE too, it has blown the fuses thrice. That's 3 times!  Scary! Perhaps I should stop and acknowledge I'm a grown up and shut up....naaah as Frank Turner so ...eloquently puts it: