Categories: mrs-tiggywinkle
Date: 08 March 2008 15:32:28
Gentle readers, as it is Saturday, I thought I would share with you some thoughts on being a Hausfrau. This is the first entry in an occasional and no doubt mercifully short series for I do not consider myself to be a Hausfrau in any efficient sense of the word. It is perhaps only fair at this juncture to confess that I am not going to impart top tips on household wizardry but rather to cajole you into sharing some of yours.
You will be aware that the German-speaking world has Hausfraulichkeit down to a fine art [I'm not sure if that word actually exists but given some of the words I've had to translate this week, I think I should be allowed to make one or two of my own up]. I am sure that this great country of ours has produced a fine specimen or two in this field but my impression is that our prowess is not (yet?) world renowned. It is however undisputed that the Germanic home is a paragon of neatness, cleanliness, tidiness and general fastidious organisation where everything has its place and, what is more, everything is *in* its place. Always.
I remember going to Germany as an 18-year old to be an au-pair. I thought I would be looking after the children in the family: playing with them, checking they'd got their school bags ready, supervising homework, watching suitable TV with them, preparing the odd light snack, perhaps assisting with bedtime rituals, teeth-brushing and bedtime stories, that sort of thing. Nothing had prepared me for the reality which was to do all those things as mere additions to the primary objective in life. My main task was to keep the enormous family home as bright and sparkling as a new pin. I began to appreciate why stories such as Cinderella had originated in that country. But I digress. Suffice it to say, that I did not win "The Bundesrepublik's Indispensable Au-Pair of the Year Award". We muddled along - muddle being the operative word from my employer's point of view, no doubt.
Earlier today, I was faffing about in the kitchen achieving nothing. I questioned myself as to how I had managed to spend half an hour in there and it still look the same as it had when I'd walked in. Meine Damen und Herren! I realised that I was not suitably dressed! A kitchen is no place for a skirt and chunky jumper. One cannot concentrate on the matter in hand. I do not advocate the preferred style of hausfraulich dress that was 'die Mode' back in my au-pair days.... flat black and unbelievably frumpy shoes, a button-through overall of sack-like proportions (tasteless flowery design optional) and clashing headscarf... My preferred attire is either an old t-shirt teamed with equally ancient shorts or a pair of pyjamas. Footwear in both cases is optional but if required, either a pair of slippers or flip-flops.
I don't know what it is about these garments but somehow they impart a certain focus. It could be that one does not wish to be caught wearing such things if an unexpected visitor arrives at the door. On the other hand, it might simply be that these are the items that were designated for such tasks at the foundation of the world - but someone rather careless forgot to pass it down to the next generation.
So, now that I am properly attired, I shall return to my attempts at restoring at least some order in the humble dwelling and await your comments on appropriate clothing for household cleaning with anticipation.