Suzie Homemaker Doesn't Live Here

As I worked on the cleaning and tidying of my apartment over the past two days, I realized that the housekeeping gene has deserted my DNA. It must have been on the same strand as the math gene, which is also gone without a trace. While an epigeneticist might be able to explain what happened, I suspect the housekeeping gene simply died of atrophy.
The place hadn't been cleaned since mid-terms, so the dust bunnies were taking over. Given a choice between scrubbing the bathroom and writing a paper, I had to choose chaining myself to the computer every time. After all, the dust on the hall floor would not show up on my GPA, no matter how I treated it.
Once upon a time I was a scrupulous home maker. I polished, I scrubbed, I ironed, I made and hung curtains, I vacuumed and dusted every morning, I laundered, I cooked Thanksgiving dinner for ten mopey young sailors, I washed windows inside and out, and I was really, really bored. Now that my evenings are more likely to be occupied with ideas than television, I spend a lot less time on housework, and even less on feeling guilty about not doing it.
It is nice, though, to have most of the house looking like it's ready for inspection by a supervisor from the Disney company. I guess a girl could get used to this, if she had enough to think about while scrubbing the floors.