The Genesis of the Domestic Goddess

Things never turn out the way I expect them to. It's strange really, because I am usually good at guessing games. Take me to a thriller and I'll nail the murderer for you at the first chance. Give me a detective story and half way through I'll tell you the end game. I can see further in to the situation than that exact moment on screen or in the pages. Acknowledgedly, I have a wide stretch of imagination.

But I am stumped when it comes to real life. My own anticipation and expectations invariably land me in a quagmire, and I can never quite get it right. Life surprises me. All the time. And I like it this way. I like the heady rush of blood when things turn out better than I had imagined. And hate it when the worst is too far beyond my imagination.

Which is why, I am pleasantly surprised at the moment. I never thought I had much of an aptitude for the home and the hearth. I am not overtly ambitious, but I have never been inclined towards being a homebody. I dust and clean and make lists but that's because I am a bit of an organisational freak. I mean I love churning out the occasional fancy five-course dinner with the frills, but I never realised that I could want to do it every day, happily.

I am enjoying my new-found domestic prowess. I cook, I clean, I read, I hum. I would have been the joy of my mother's life if she were to catch me now in my present state.

Mark the evolution of the home goddess.

I think I'll make a success of housekeeping yet.