I am defrosting the freezer. Oh yes I am. What's more, I'm doing it in filthy tracksuit bottoms and going at it with a scrubbing brush and a sponge, and spitting great hanks of hair out of my mouth ever 30 seconds because I am so intently focussed on Sorting The Freezer Out that spending a whole minute and a half locating a hair band to scrag my hair back with seemed like a waste of precious freezer cleaning time.
It can only mean one thing: I have been hit with my bi-yearly 'why am I not a proper grown-up?' panic. Well, OK, it could mean one of two things: either that or I forgot to take my Sertraline last night (did that a few weeks ago and the next day was gripped with the sudden need to paint the study in 2 hours by myself without moving any furniture at all or the use of any dust sheets. We're still picking paint splashes off the floor, but it does look lovely and fresh in here now and the withdrawal electric shocks in my head stopped after 48 hours).
Back to the panic. You may have picked up on my slight lack of organisational skills. Or...well...life skills of any kind really. To give you an overview of the scale of the problem, I recently took a comprehensive online test to determine how many autistic traits I have. I think it was scored out of 160, the average being around 80. I scored zero and have a sneaking suspicion that this diagnoses me as terminally crap. It would be right. I don't own a watch or a diary (well, I own many diaries because I buy them with the best of intentions, use them for 3 days and then mislay them) and instead rely on someone else telling me what I'm supposed to be doing and when and random scribbled notes on bits of paper strewn around the house. I find this system works pretty well for me, but nobody else approves and occasionally I wake up in a fit of angst about my uselessness and begin a quest to get organised.
I was already entering this phase this morning, when my husband made the mistake of telling me not to bother because "being ramshackle is all part of your charm." That did it. Ramshackle? Out of all the adjectives he could pluck out of the English language to describe his wife, the love of his life, he picks ramshackle? I do not want to be ramshackle. Time to defrost the freezer and take a trip to Ikea.*
I don't really care that it's a Saturday night. We were staying in anyway, and it will be worth it for the smug feeling of having done something that responsible adults do. I have even resisted the temptation to hack at the ice with a knife so far (although I really really want to. So much.). I have also organised the toiletries and found two baskets for the transportation of items up and down stairs AND - get this bitches - I have BOUGHT SOME FLANNELS. Uh-huh. We are now a household that owns flannels. Get in. Now when one of us has a headache we won't have to lie in a darkened room with a damp pair of Richard's pants on our foreheads because we have the correct tool for the job.
God, I am such a brilliant grown-up today. Had better go and scrape some defrosted prawns out of the back of the freezer now. Maybe will even clean the microwave by cutting a lemon up and heating it up in a bowl of water. That's how adult I am. Time for some serious backside kissing Richard; you will rue the day you called me ramshackle.
*Trip to Ikea was total failure as I rejected all their shelves for "looking cheap" and their spice racks were out of stock. This is a major setback. My future organisation skills depend entirely on the existence of spice racks in my house and I'm having a bit of a panic.