...that someone who went to two grocery stores yesterday would have everything they need for
Thanksgiving. But you would be wrong. (Can I bitch about the holidays again, or is it too soon after the last bitchfest?)
And last night I scrubbed the kitchen floor on my hands and knees, like a little Polish washerwoman, even though I just did that eight days ago. Why? I'll tell you why. Because someone spilled something sticky in front of the sink, did not clean it up properly (if they attempted to clean it at all), and then they or someone else tracked it through the kitchen. Naturally all the menfolk deny any knowledge of any of this occurring***. Okay. But if I come home tonight and there are any sticky spots in there at all, someone will die.
That's the problem with all this cleaning business (um, other than the *other* problem where cleaning leads you to getting caustic chemicals in your eye, and other safety hazards that just aren't a concern when you sit on your sofa in a state of sloth): it's always immediately dirty again. It is a thankless and ceaseless task. Now, things like laundry and dishes, okay. You wear clothes, they get dirty, you need to clean them. You cook and eat, the pots and dishes are dirty, you need to clean them. There's some payoff there. But actual cleaning? You vacuum and you dust and you turn around and it needs to be done again, even in rooms you hardly use. There's no payoff. It's enough to turn a person into one of those *real* old skool Polish ladies who kept their furniture covered in plastic and only let you sit on it grudgingly.
I hate all this marginally less since I'm on the Mrs Meyer's bandwagon, because at least my cleaning stuff smells nice, doesn't give me a headache, and might possibly not be made in China. The Dyson helps too. But only marginally. Even with cool cleaning products and tools, it all still sucks.
The End.
xoxo
***But I'm betting on Mr D after watching him feed Evil Kitty the other day. He spills some of the "juice" from the catfood can onto the counter when he's putting it on her plate. So he takes a paper towel and wipes at it. Not a damp paper towel, mind you. Just a paper towel. All this does is smear it around. Then he cheerfully deposits the paper towel in the trash and goes about his business. It's like, dude, I know you made a half-assed attempt to clean up after yourself, but you might not as well have bothered. I'm sure that sticky mess on my floor was similar. Despite denials.
6 comments:
In my house, where I *do* do much of the cleaning, the kittehs are often the guilty parties. Have you cross-examined EK?
Evil Kitty is not shy or secretive about her messes, though, because she has neither shame nor fear. She deposits her cat yak exactly where you'll be sure to notice it (by which, of course, I mean "step in it with your bare feet first thing in the morning.")
Two words: Swiffer WetJet (well, depending on how you count, that could be three words).
Not the Swiffer with the pre-wetted pads, the real WetJet that sprays wet stuff on your floor (that probably isn't what they say it is cause it comes from the same unregulated Chinese factories that used to produce melamine for milk enhancement until that business resulted in executions). Can definitely do the job on mysterious sticky stuff.
Then barter up some massage for some significant cleaning and you can go back to your usual sweat pants enhanced sloth.
For the record, I haven't left the city of Lowell in several days. (No, I don't have witnesses, because Amy Speace didn't come home with me on Sunday night, and it's been just me and my melancholy here since then).
Mr Indemnity, don't pretend you actually ever clean the floors in your apartment. How gullible do you think I am? :-)
Mr Barma, what's with the melancholy? Do my sticky floors make you sad? :-)
I actually have cleaned the floor, on rare occasions...
Which is why I'm recommending the WetJet. If it will work in my kitchen, just think of how well it will work in one not subject to sloth.
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