In my defence, I must say I suffer from bad knees. Officially diagnosed by doctors, surgeons, etc. OK? Which is my excuse for not working out as intensively as I used to. Still, I do pride myself for being more active than most of my friends. Which doesn’t explain why a (sort of) fit girl (middle-aged woman, rather) like me laid on the sofa at 8 pm last night completely exhausted. Yes, 8 pm, you didn’t misread this.

For your information: I rarely go to bed before 11 pm. Only exceptions – when I have a fully-blown migraine. And, yet, I was absolutely at the end of my physical powers yesterday.

I hear suggestions: perhaps I went to the gym and overdid it? Nope. Or something more exciting: wild sex session? I wish. Kids got me running out and about? They are away at the moment, so no. Went for a long energetic walk? No, not that either. Spent the day gardening, while the weather is still warm? No way, hate gardening.

So, what was is it that made me so tired? Housework. As dull as that. I am obviously getting old – the only explanation there is!

Now, I am not one to leave my house a complete mess (contrary to what you might hear from my husband). I am not one to scrub it constantly, either. To me, there is nothing wrong with a house looking like someone actually lives there. Still, friends and neighbours who happen to visit (unexpectedly) do make nice comments about the state of it. I know, they are polite people, but still don’t have to say it if they don’t mean it, do they!

I guess all I am trying to say is that I am used to doing my chores, so yesterday was not much different. It did burn me out, though: just half a day spent cleaning. My plans to go to the gym or do any floor exercises at home vanished into thin air. Simply because the housework seemed to have done it all for me.

I remember an odd occasion a few years ago when I decided to wash my car. Bravely and stupidly. I couldn’t move the following day. Not only did all my muscles hurt, so did my knees and my back. Agony. I was only starting to get older, you know. I swore to never ever do that again. Still, decided to do it a few weeks ago – this time with my son. He sort of helped, bless him, but was more in my way than helping. Which means I washed the car more or less on my own. And, surprise surprise, I didn’t actually hurt the next day. Morale of the story? The more you do it, the better you get, and the easier it gets.

Hm. Not sure I like the moral of my story. Seems like, after all, I don’t need to go to the gym. Just stay at home all day… and clean. Gives me my workout and makes me sleep better – which is why I go to the gym in the first place.

Perhaps I should consider becoming a housewife. A real desperate one. But, then, I won’t have anything to blog about, will I!

Oh, wait a minute. I will! I will, then, be dreaming of getting a job… and of going to the gym to help me shed the pounds more easily. And so the circle closes. I will join the gym on one sunny day, and will then wonder: why did I bother do housework so often, if all I need is an hour at the gym, rather than scrubbing the house all day? Nice and easy.