The Domestic

It was 8am on a beautiful, mild Saturday morning. I padded into the backyard, coffee in hand, and inhaled deeply the fragrant spring air. Mmmmm. Clear, sunny, a nice light breeze.


There was an anguished cry from my next-door neighbour. Waving politely, I padded back inside to put some clothes on.

Now dressed, I lounged on the banana…erm… lounge, and sipped on my post-breakfast coffee, which is always more relaxed than the sculled, shaky-hand pre-breakfast coffee.

I thought “Great drying day.”

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!!” immediately yelled my testosterone riddled, adrenaline addicted self.
“This is the day for kite surfing! Mountain biking! Blading! Drying?? Look at you! Look! Look! Do you LOOK like a housewife?? Are you wearing a frilly apron?? Well, you are but NO! You’re an athlete! An adventurer. A live-r of No Fear T-shirt clichés! If you don’t live on the edge you’re taking up too much room! How could your first thought be of…of… of housework??”

“Typical.” Replied my mature, well-adjusted-if-intrusive feminine side in a voice not unlike my dear mother’s.
“That’s what you did last weekend. And the weekend before. You’ve been working late or training all week. You’ve a pile of laundry in your room that would fill the Black Hole of Calcutta. Even that pile is hard to find under the rest of the mess. You haven’t washed clothes in weeks – or dishes in 8 days. This is the first thing you can think of as soon as you get a spare moment? Kite surfing? Grow up please! Get some of this done will you?”

“Bloody hell. I only live once you know.”
“Yes, and not for long in THIS mess…”

I was in two minds… The Peckster stood on one side of my head, facing bone, one leg jerking agitatedly like a sewing-machine needle.
“Boring old fart…” he muttered.

Andrew Llewelyn was at the opposite side, watching The Peckster’s back, arms crossed, right foot tapping in exasperation.
“Irresponsible, immature idiot.”

This could have gone on for some time, but luckily another Nescafe Blend 43 (Double Roasted For A Silky Smooth Taste) brought us together, and a compromise was reached. Saturday afternoon saw a Hills Hoist full of freshly washed clothes blowing gently in the balmy breeze, in the backyard of a house remarkably bereft of dirty dishes… and The Peckster screaming and sliding his way down some way-too-steep goat track in the hills, mounted on (well, occasionally and loosely attached to) his trusty mountain-bike.

And later on, of course, the best thing about making up after a domestic – the sex is always great…

The Domestic


Mount Duneed, Australia

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Artist's Description

Sometimes it can be tough, having so many people living inside the same head…

Artwork Comments

  • flower68
  • Alateia
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  • PJ Ryan
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