Altruism?

I hate cleaning. But I can't live in a mess. So I badger the brat into clearing the house. Immovable force meets irresistible object, and we both whine our way through empty take out containers, receipts, crumpled clothes, 3 laptops, dirty glasses, chocolate wrappers, clean laundry, wet towels, mismatched socks, ballet slippers..... God. I miss my maid. I suspect I am the only Indian in London who doesn't generate employment for ex-Eastern bloc countries. I tell people I feel guilty - it's such a small flat... how lazy do you have to get someone else to clean it? I lie. I never feel guilty (well, very seldom, and it would have to be purgatory inducing behaviour). So, if I'm not getting to Paradise for being self righteously altruistic, why is Tina only cleaning Sonia's flat?
Because I'm pathetic (as is Mim, and this is what keeps me from tracking down her real parents). Every time you hear the whirr of a vacuum at #15 (I sincerely apologise to my stoic neighbours for not sending any complaints {yet} at the odd hours the whirring manifests itself), it is a triumph of good over evil. Procrastination prevails! The laptop is abandoned. The deadline held in abeyance. What can be more compelling than the enervating need to polish a vast mirrored expanse, deserving of it's own GDP, to within an inch of it's life? Besides, it is a statistically proven fact, that un-vacuumed carpets send up invisible dustballs that, when inhaled by unsuspecting writers of papers/proposals/presentations, clogs the part of the brain controlling creative report writing skills. Let's be honest, a fail safe Plan B: domestic goddess in motion, is what keeps every dedicated procrastinator from falling into a deep hole of despair when faced with a deadline, and up till 3 am on a Sunday cursing evolution and the right to vote for women.