House prefect

I wasn't feeling my absolute bestest this morning so I thought I'd write myself an off games note, skip aqua zumba and stay in bed with a super trashy book, a cup of tea and a smelly dog. To my horror there was a spot check. At 10am in waltzed Mr Smith ... "Aha, I caught you lounging in bed all morning." There was only one thing for it, feign near death and demand a cup of tea as the only cure. It didn't work.

I am now performing subversive housework. Anarchy reigns in the dishwasher as I shove in all the "handwash only" bone china, silver and large utensils. Absolute disobedience has broken out in the laundry department as I not only wash 5 tea towels on their own in the machine but tumble dry them too - AND it's a lovely sunny day. I did not wash the bathroom floor as instructed, I hoovered it instead. The dog got stuck in there yesterday and tore open several constipation potions. As he has shown no side effects I can only assume he didn't actually consume any but merely decorated the bathroom floor with it, making it grittier than the Kalahari. I am toying with the idea of ringing an ironing service for all the sheets; actually, they may as well do it all including the 5 tea towels. Of course I have to carefully cover my tracks before Mr Smith stands in judgement which can take longer than just doing the boring tasks. Domestic Goddess? Oh I so hope not.