I'd rather run a mile a day uphill from it.

Visit an angry dentist, eat coriander, live with my mother, fill in my tax return.

All housework gives me a migraine, but worst is changing the sheet, pillow cases and (grrrrrª) duvet cover.

I start working up the energy and patience the day after the last time they were changed (in that instance by a cleaner who has returned to Poland for a wedding, hopefully not her own).  And now, by some miracle, I won't have to start working up the energy again untul tomorrow.  The miracle of my own, hidden, feminine-side competence.  It didn't take long - once I had climbed inside the cover, holding two duvet corners in my finger tips.  What was all my fuss about?

How prepostrous that I should speculate about the invention of self-changing sheets!

Still, all men are sluts, most of us in more ways than one.