I am the queen of gleaming porcelain ; citrus -over- bleach scented , showroom ready, watermarks wiped away. My prayer flag of colourful laundry flutters in a gentle breeze, as the weak sun breaks through the morning mists to spotlight socks in pairs - whites with whites, stripes with stripes; shirts and towels sized in perfect order; a stark witness to a mild compulsion.
Freshly ironed shirts grace the wardrobes , and the act of symmetrical folding renders drawers smooth opening and crease free.
Today's flurry of domestic duty hides the deeper truth. I am at heart a slattern; happiest curled on comfy cushions, glasses perched on nose to blur the dust soft settling around me; allowing words sharp focus. My book-stack beckons, full of promise and the scent of fresh pages whilst I , always eager to submit to the sirens' call, shrug off this mantel of domesticity and retreat once more to my true form.
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