Housework to the rescue — or the ruin?

You have probably read these snippets in the papers or online from time to time, the same as I: “Household chores are great as a daily workout”; “Adults who spend more time on daily household chores show greater brain size”; “Older adults who do housework may have sharper memory, greater attention span, better leg strength and greater protection against falls”.

As the undisputed queen of household chores in this one house at least, I should then be as fit as a fiddle, as slim and trim and quick as a road runner, with my super-brain bursting out of my skull, and my legs should be pumped up and ready to take me along the Appalachian Trail or up to the Everest base camp, at least.

No such luck, however.

Despite having put in four decades of more or less constant conduct of all kinds of chores, none of the above benefits have reached me.

True, I go about my daily sweeping and swabbing routine (no hi-fi vacuum for this old grunt) with the firm belief that it keeps my knees “oiled” and my arms “unfrozen”, but at the end of it, when I can barely walk despite those superiorly developed (read fleshy) legs, I find that I can barely think, too! Where did the greater brain size go?

Did I solve the crossword any faster?

Did stories leap out of my head fully formed, all characters and incidents and mysteries neatly tied with a bow?

Oh, wait!

It manifested itself in a decidedly sharper memory for all the slights and insults and occasions when these same household chores were made fun of!

I recall — very loudly for the benefit of the only other occupant of the house at present — how he disparagingly likened me to fictional witches with their fondness for their brooms. (I choose to forget, of course, that minor detail that validated his comments: in various parts of the world, east and west of our native land, I did bring home brooms of different shapes and sizes and colours and dust pans with extra long handles, then hid them in secret spaces others were forbidden to desecrate — and consequently, forever after was condemned to use them with my hands alone!)

Memories of the days of my youth also returned to me without any effort whatsoever, bubbling over in a stream of happy outings, parties, get-togethers, tete-a-tetes, hikes, cosy movie viewing, picnics, musical evenings, without the interrupting thought of a single chore such as cooking for the occasion and cleaning before or after any of those events.

A greater attention span?

Sure! If greater means that my attention sweeps the room in great swathes — and everything is found lacking in some way!

Why aren’t the cushions plumped up?

Why isn’t the trash can emptied?

As for the health benefits and workout “effect” of household chores, I’ve chosen to forget them. Because all those decades of washing, pounding, bending, and stretching couldn’t get me fit enough to fit into those outfits I stored in my closet at the end of my carefree days!

Could it be that while I am busy with all that, the only part of my body that I am really exercising is my motor-mouth: mumbling and grumbling over dust and grime that collects on a daily basis, muttering and spluttering as I try and bring order to the clutter that is getting the better of our home, ranting and raving about the sheer injustice of being the chosen char-person …

Maybe it is time for me to adopt that cute little robot cleaner that fits under the furniture, can be programmed to start and finish its cleaning tasks, and let it take over — wordless, even if it is not silent!

— Cheryl Rao is a writer based in India