“I have crawled under the beds to retrieve lone socks and shoes… I have trawled through a foul-smelling rubbish bin to find my daughter’s mislaid college project. Apparently, I’m ‘good at that sort of thing’,” writes SARA MILNE.

ALL across the land, in shops, factories, offices and schools, a mammoth exercise in introspection is taking place; the annual performance review. 

My husband will soon be mightily occupied thus, both appraising and being appraised. He had the gall at breakfast the other day, to turn to me and ask if I had begun reflecting on my own performance in 2021. What? The cheek!

Earlier in the year he identified my current role as “stay-at-home wifey”. Referring to my initial business plan, he asked me if I had achieved my goals, what were my key performance indicators and what was my plan going forward. 

He was particularly interested in knowing of any innovations I intended to introduce in the area of cuisine. The nerve! 

Following several hours of navel gazing (not easy with a covid belly), I have come up with the following: 

• I have enslaved myself to this house to keep the rental property agency off my back. Every six months I have scrubbed disgusting ovens, scraped greasy pots, cleared blocked sinks, cleaned smelly fridges, washed windows and generally worked myself to the point of exhaustion. Even the five-star review from the property agency can’t take away the pain of that suffering.
• I have crawled under the beds to retrieve lone socks and shoes, apparently because I’m the slimmest, or is it the stupidest? I have trawled through a foul-smelling rubbish bin to find my daughter’s mislaid college project. Apparently, I’m “good at that sort of thing”.
• I have stopped my husband going into his office looking like someone who’s slept overnight in a hedge. A check at the door to make sure shirt is not sticking out and there is no egg down the front of his tie, is a basic function of the “stay-at-home wifey”. I have saved him on many an occasion from sartorial ruin and ridicule. 
• I have made him a packed lunch every morning, buttering the bread right into the corners and lining up the cheese slice with the ham at a perfect 90-degree angle. Anything less and the sandwich comes home, uneaten, in his school bag… sorry, briefcase. 
• I have displayed excellent communication skills in “liaising” with all tradesmen coming to carry out repairs. Have to say this has been a not unpleasant task given the downright hunkiness of the average Australian tradie. 
• On the cooking front, I managed to identify several new “ready-to-cook” meals in Coles that don’t taste entirely of wallpaper paste.

And finally, there is a schmaltzy song from the 1930s that I’m going to sing for you now. It is the song of the “stay-at-home wifey”. It is our mission statement, the essence of our being, our raison d’etre. 

Keep young and beautiful. 

It’s your duty to be beautiful. 

Keep young and beautiful

If you want to be loved. 

Fortunately, dear reader, I tick the box on all three.