All tricks performed with the accompaniment of a Green Day CD

As sure as the sun will rise in the east I know that if any sort of household cleaning chore involves me repeatedly climbing up and down a step ladder then my less-than-toned-and-fit (read: flabby) body is going to be reduced to a groaning, shuddering mass of aches after said chore is finished. The tops of my kitchen cabinets are grease film and dust free (and smelling of the Williams-Sonoma countertop cleaner Mollie sent me) and I'm getting slightly concerned that when I stand up the creaking of my knees drowns out the sound of the TV.

To console myself and at the same time ease around the problem of being unable to think of anything new, exciting, tasty and healthful to cook for supper I assembled a conglomeration of ground beef, jarred spaghetti sauce, mushrooms and egg noodles and after stirring it all together and shoveling it into a casserole dish, covered it all with an insane amount of shredded mozzarella cheese in order to form a sort of crispy brown mozzarella crust which ends up giving me an ridiculous amount of mindless pleasure as I take a fork and stab into over and over it to feel its crustiness once I remove the casserole from the oven.

I believe that perhaps I have just written the longest rambling sentence of my life.

So after cleaning, complaining about my aging body and scarfing down one of my ultimate comfort food pleasures I'm now going to ease onto the sofa and knit until either my fingers grow numb or I nod off to sleep.

I am Hausfrau, hear me roar.