I am not very practical. Furthermore, I do not particularly enjoy practical tasks unless they are incredibly easy - put out chairs, unlock doors, that sort of thing. Around the house I do the ironing, cooking, washing, shopping, recycling and bins - all very straightforward although I fear I may have just shrunk my only John Smedley which depresses me no end. I bleach a mean toilet.
Liz does the cleaning because she has higher standards than me and is simply better at it anyway. I'm not good at fiddly corners. I sneeze at the first sight of dust. I have no completer-finisher skills.
Over the years I have taken the view that I would rather do a little extra writing work to earn a bit more money in order to afford to pay someone to decorate or do DIY. It is difficult finding reliable people though. I am about to contact my third builder after two kept me waiting for a year each. It's just a pointing and brick-laying job.
I have just agreed to pay some people to come and do the autumn pruning and clear up my miniscule garden. I don't like gardening unless I can design the garden myself and make it pretty Zen (thus empty of maintenance-requiring shrubs). If one day I move into a Rectory (please Lord, no) I will do gardening in work time and not on my day off.
So can someone please explain the feeling of guilt. I am helping someone else to be employed. I am spending more time doing what I love. My parents had a regular supply of gardeners and paid help. Is it that I want to be seen to be good at everything and coping without help?
Come here BB; we need to talk.