clean your teeth, domestic goddess


Home Beautiful, October 2001. Obviously being a domestic goddess was the new next big thing, but with a nod to the blokes. Because it was, afterall, the beginning of a new millenium. Personally I think the whole domestic goddess thing was a bit of a fizzer, except for Nigella, but then she was/is a category all of her own. And I suspect baking is far more glamorous than laundry will ever be.


Although laundry provides one with more opportunities to be bitter and cantakerous. Says she clutching a frozen teething ring wrapped in a tea towell to her jaw. Typing one handed. On her third round of panadol/ibuprofen since the root canal installment this afternoon. Without anaesthetic (of which she is insanely proud).


Eventhough I would admire (drool over) a linen cupboard with a pile of very neat folded sheets, I am pretty certain that I will never, ever fold a fitted sheet like this. And neither will G. But Suse might. So this is for her. Complete with wonky instructions that mention domestic gods who read magazines and fold. Yes, those domestic gods.


Yesterday, as I hung out the lintiest load of washing ever, I thought to myself, there's no way I am anything but a sad domestic mortal. Note to self, do not wash black t-shirts with white fringed beach towells. Especially not in a washing machine that has no lint filter. When I came to bring in that load of laundry, I couldn't bear to put it away. It was just to awful to contemplate wearing t-shirts that linty.  Then I had a moment of domestic competence and cleaned out the washing machine. I wiped it, de-gunked anything I could see and then ran a cycle with a full load of water and 2 litres of cheapo vinegar. Which cleans away all the soap scum and leaves it all a fair bit cleaner than before. I thought of Jude, because when she asked I didn't think I knew anything about how to clean a washing machine. But there you go. I don't think I could justify doing it very often, because of the water, but my t-shirts came out a fair bit less linty the second time around. Not perfect but bearable.


  1. Every now and then I fold them carefully and feel ridiculously smug. But mostly I roll them up and shove them unceremoniously into the too small homemade linen cupboard made out of chipboard that has one door missing.
    I think I missed that domestic goddess gene. But thank you for thinking of me!

  2. Thanks for these instructions. They work great , and I have passed them on to a few friends. All the Best

  3. Suse has directed me your way. Love all this talk about laundry. God I hate laundry. When I'm wealthy I'm going to pay someone to do my shopping, my laundry and my ironing.
    I have to admit, I do fold my fitted sheets I have got it down to a fine art now and it takes me no longer than rolling them into a ball. Imagine my smug smile as I type this.