The Gypsies Shamed Me

13 Jul

I started watching “My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding” on TLC recently. It’s a reality-ish show about the Gypsy/Romany/Traveler culture in Britain, focusing mainly on big celebration days – baptisms, coming-of-age birthday parties for girls, and weddings. They also capture the girls and their mothers in everyday life.

I don’t know what fascinates me most: the lifestyle (lots of gypsies live in RVs), or the clothing. The bride pictured below has a rhinestone cat silhouette on her dress bodice and the skirt. For her hen party (bachelorette party), I believe her *ahem* dress looked like a palm tree and her maid of honor’s was a pineapple.

….uummm….words fail

I’m mesmerized. So when TLC came out with “My Big, Fat American Gypsy Wedding,” of course I had to watch it.

Despite the Atlantic Ocean separating these groups of Gypsies, their cultures are very similar. One such similarity is the fact that, after marriage, the wife is expected to stay at home raising the kids and keeping the house tidy clean spotless completely and totally perfect. They teach their daughters from a young age to clean, giving them sponges when they go outside to play so that they can clean their outdoor Little Tykes playhouses. No joke. The man does no housework. You’ll often see the daughters sitting on the floor beside a pail of wash water, old toothbrush in hand, scrubbing the baseboards or the floor. They put Mr. Clean to shame. They talk about how if you can’t keep your house clean, you’re a disgrace to your husband, family, home, and community.

So when we came home from our family reunion in Colorado last month, I was shocked to see how dirty my bathroom was after using other people’s clean bathrooms for a week. I know you know what I’m talking about – the hair and dust bunny-type things that accumulate behind the toilet and the little pieces of toilet paper that fall off the roll, never making it to either the trash can or the toilet. We only have a toilet and shower stall in our bathroom enclosure (the sink’s out in the bedroom like a motel), but that small space seems to breed untidiness.

Every time I walked in there, all I could think about were those teenagers dressed in hot pants and cropped tank tops, sitting on the floors of their parents’ RVs, scrubbing the baseboards, talking trash about how I’m shameful because my bathroom is dirty.

I finally gave in to my shame. I gathered cleaning supplies, put on my yellow rubber gloves (can’t chip the nail polish), found an old toothbrush and cleaned my bathroom.

The gypsies would be proud. Until they see the hairy dust bunnies living behind the chair in my bedroom…


5 Responses to “The Gypsies Shamed Me”

  1. Kathy V. July 13, 2012 at 10:18 am #

    There is no shame in having better things to do than to clean your bathroom. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Every day.

  2. iampotassium July 14, 2012 at 10:00 am #

    1. I need matching pineapple and palm tree dresses for MY hen party… 🙂

    2. Good job cleaning! Our house looks like a tornado went through it… I guess I fail at my good fiancee/future wife training… 😦

  3. Preet Rau July 16, 2012 at 12:38 am #

    Today, I went to the beachfront with my children. I found a sea shell and gave
    it to my 4 year old daughter and said “You can hear the ocean if you put this to your ear.” She put the shell to her ear and screamed. There was a hermit crab inside and it pinched her ear. She never wants to go back! LoL I know this is totally off topic but I had to tell someone!

  4. renting a car February 6, 2013 at 2:14 am #

    Wow that was odd. I just wrote an really long comment but after I clicked submit my
    comment didn’t appear. Grrrr… well I’m not writing all that over
    again. Anyway, just wanted to say excellent blog!


  1. You’re Putting WHAT In The Closet? « that nolen chick - September 15, 2012

    […] with all of that extra time? I’m going to clean my house. Now before you go wondering if the gypsies have shamed me into this, I assure you they haven’t. I was convicted a couple of weeks ago that I’m a […]

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