A Monologue by Jean-Pierre Martinez
House cleaning is not exactly my idea of fun. Don’t misunderstand me; I’m not one of those meticulous old bachelors who, in the privacy of their homes, take pleasure in waxing and polishing hardwood floors. Nevertheless, I believe there’s a certain discreet grandeur in putting your own house in order. By firmly gripping the broom handle, you stay firmly grounded in reality. Remember, from dust we came, and to dust we shall return, sweeping ourselves away. Cleaning your own toilet bowl requires a certain humility. A certain modesty, I dare say. Furthermore, I would assert that doing your own cleaning is a sign of good mental hygiene and serves as a safeguard against numerous follies. I’m not referring to personal quirks. No, I’m talking about defending democracy. The mop represents the ultimate bulwark against tyranny. Would Hitler have invaded Poland if he had to wield a vacuum first? Would Pol Pot have enthusiastically exterminated his own people if he could have spent his time chasing dust bunnies at home? No, we’ve never seen a dictator doing housework. Hiring a maid is already daydreaming of becoming a domestic tyrant. It’s the first step towards megalomania. It’s the symbolic annexation of Poland! Genius, on the other hand, isn’t an enemy of housekeeping. One can easily envision Archimedes formulating his theorem while standing at his sink, adorned with rubber gloves: every hand immersed in water experiences a vertical upward force equal to the weight of the displaced dishwater. And if museums abound with still lifes showcasing fruit bowls, vegetable peelings, and bleeding steaks, it’s because the great masters of painting devoted significant time to their kitchens. Engaging a house cleaner, mark my words, is a form of intellectual laziness. No, let me retract that: it’s the original sin! The first abandonment of one’s responsibilities as a person, ushering in a cascade of subsequent abdications. The small compromise with your conscience that allows for all future compromises. It’s the origin of capitalism! The beginning of the exploitation of man by man. More precisely, the exploitation of the house cleaner by man, or by the executive woman, who, as you will agree, is no longer quite a woman. Because you must at least have the honesty to face the truth: the major cleaning that you refuse to do at your own place, for fear of getting your hands dirty, will have to be done by someone else on your behalf. The pumice stone you hesitate to wield, fearing skin damage, will need another Pilate to handle it for you. Another person whom you’ll despise for their servility, or at least look down on to make them pay for your own cowardice. Ever wonder why people often pay their house cleaners off the books, and without a shred of guilt, no less? It’s because we can’t genuinely perceive doing someone else’s cleaning as a legitimate job. Even less so work deserving a wage and granting social rights. Thus, we seek an excuse. We assert that if we didn’t have more important tasks, we would undoubtedly handle it ourselves—tasks like washing the dining room windows and scrubbing the toilet seat. We contend that our preference to delegate is not born out of laziness; quite the contrary, it stems from a sense of dedication. Almost self-denial! To avoid depriving the rest of humanity of the many benefits we couldn’t provide if we were forced to do the cleaning ourselves. Do you see where I’m going with this when I talked about humility… Okay, we can’t go against nature either. It’s obvious that a normally constituted man isn’t genetically equipped to handle a steam iron. But still… That’s why society invented marriage. Sharing household chores, indeed. However, everyone retains their dignity. So, in this noble shared domestic servitude, the couple can become what it should never have stopped being: a household. Didn’t Voltaire say that we must cultivate our garden? He didn’t find it necessary to add that we should also peel our vegetables, serve ourselves soup, and clean the bowls afterward, but it was implied. Truly I tell you, the house cleaner is not at all the future of mankind. And when the world’s leaders are constitutionally obligated to attend to their own little laundry, the fragrance of lavender will envelop all of humanity.
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A sketch from the collection Like a fish in the air
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