Growing up, we have been fed ideas and ideals of what domestic bliss is and should be. Domestic bliss has always been pitched as the unspoken goal and dream where it was deemed tactless and crass to mention it, but when alluded to, everyone knew and understand the unwavering desire to achieve domestic bliss.
I had moment of domestic bliss the other day. Waking up to a scorching morning that destroyed all of my planned outdoor activities, I decided that my day should not be ruined by unseasonal weather. So I showered, did my hair, found some nice clothes to wear and put on my watch to be ready for the day ahead. I then put on the latest Paris Hilton album and played it out loud with all my windows and doors opened. I made myself a wholesome breakfast and afterwards, I put on a pair of gloves and proceeded to Pine-O-Clean the whole apartment. It was domestic bliss.
As I scrubbed down the kitchen benches with Jif, mopped the tiles with Pine-O-Clean, Dysoned the carpets, Spray’n’Wiped the cupboards, Windexed the windows and mirrors and Domestos’d the bathroom, I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. The whole notion that domestic bliss is a husband, a wife, two kids living in a bricks and mortar house on a quarter acre block of land with a Hills Hoist, a Labrador and a white Ford Falcon in the garage is unfounded and downright wrong.
It was a struggle to remove the shackles of ancient thinking and notions of domestic bliss. It was a challenge to re-define it for a Generation Y living in the twenty-first century. And it is a relief to understand that I may be living that.
I am immensely enjoying the decadence and bourgie of the single lifestyle and I am loving the fact that I am now living out my domestic bliss.
Failing that, at least my Cartier received a good cleaning.
posted by tykang @ 10/15/2006 10:51:00 PM
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