The Good Housewife Project started today with the cat scratching at the bedroom door, me getting up to let him in and then back out again, looking at the time, and then shrieking at Johnny Rotten that his alarm didn’t go off and that he needed to get up Right Now or he’d be late for work. On the bright side, there was no time to chat or to even consider making breakfast, so it was a lot less awkward than it could’ve been, given the hard line he’s taken against both breakfast and talking in the morning.
After he left, I set about my task of making my home a clean, pleasant place to be– but first, I put on some period appropriate music and got myself presentable.
First song up?
Yes. Bing Crosby, singing “Just a Gigolo”. Let that sink in for a minute. Not David Lee Roth as one would assume, but Bing Crosby. That Bing Crosby.
My mind was blown, and I was pretty sure it was a sign of a good day ahead, because c’mon. Bing. Crosby. Singing. Just. A. Gigolo. Here, seriously… go listen.
I’ll wait. (Fixed so it’ll open in a new tab. Now you can listen while you read! ~A)
I don’t even know what to say.But, you’re totally welcome for that. Kinda makes you want to light a fire, dim the lights, pour a glass of good wine, and hire a male companion for the night, doesn’t it? No? Just me? Okay. Anyway….
Most of my day was pretty uneventful.I cleaned like I was a prideful housewife and that my most judgmental acquaintances were coming over for a game of bridge and some finger sandwiches. I got my apron filthy. I baked a loaf of bread, made lunch, got compliments from the spouse on not looking like a hobo, did dish after dish after dish, and by mid-afternoon, I looked like this.
Raise one eyebrow if you are under duress, ma’am.
I wasn’t done yet though, as dinner still needed to be made. What to have, what to have? I checked out party food, because today is the first day of TGHP. I settled on something ominously called “party loaf”. I like loaf things. I like parties. How could it possibly go wrong?
I guess I need to explain what “party loaf” actually is. It’s a sandwich, or actually, a bunch of sandwiches, that are dressed up to look like a cake. Please don’t ask me why, because I can’t even begin to guess at ‘party loaf’ logic. It’s one of those things that just is.
Betty Crocker’s version looks like this:
That’s… kind of pretty-or-something, right? Vaguely celebratory? Festiveish?
Mine turned out like this:
So yeah. Apparently, I’m not a prodigy at decorating sandwiches to look like cake. But, I spent hours on it, and I even made a weird olive and pimento flower as a decoration (because that seems like it’s totally appropriate in a situation like this, of course). Were midcentury meals really as garnish happy as I suspect? All Im seeing is olive slice this and radish rose that when I look up recipes. Im not sure if it’s really offputting or if I’m just jealous of their mad garnishing skills.
As it turns out though, the party loaf was pretty good. Batman grinned through a mouthful and gave me two thumbs up.Johnny Rotten was a harder sell, and went from, “Well, I don’t hate it” to “this is actually pretty good! I was expecting it to be so much worse! ” in a matter of a few bites. Success, I think? What they don’t know, in approving of this recipe, that they have opened the door for far more out there recipes. Poor family.
Now, I’m relaxing. Honestly, truly, I have not sat down almost all day. I took a few breaks here and there, but I have been so incredibly busy in doing things in a far more purposeful way. When I cleaned today, I did not wipe a few things, get on facebook, wipe something else, play with the dog, rinse my rag, read cracked, and so on. I cleaned without distraction, and got so much done. I’m exhausted and sore, but the fam is happy and my house is starting to look great. Feels good, y’all.