Wednesday, July 25, 2012

On Cleaning House

I hate to clean house.  From the time I can remember, my mom had a cleaning lady, so I was under the impression that houses just cleaned themselves every Wednesday.

When I got married and was gainfully employed I had a cleaning lady and again, the house cleaned itself every Wednesday.

When I quit working away from home I thought one of the good ways to cut expenses was to get rid of the cleaning lady.

 Now, I have made some epic mistakes in my life.  I have decided (at various times) that a Dorothy Hammill haircut was perfect for me, I really wanted to keep my childhood piano when my parents moved (why do you keep the Iron Maiden that the Spanish Inquisition used on you?  For sentimental reasons?), I decided to buy my husband a roll top desk (we now refer to this piece of furniture as "The Albatross"), I simply HAD to have black and white checked flooring in the kitchen (more on that later), I planted silver nettles (stingless) on the north side of the yard (they morph into stinging nettles and are impossible to eradicate).  All of these pale in comparison to the tragedy of not having a cleaning lady.  What was I thinking?

I am left with the job of cleaning house.  Now, I don't do it often, so it kind of builds up on me, but when the dust-jackrabbits start forming a mafia to take over the house, something must be done.  Then I find all of the "things I am not supposed to notice". Like candy wrappers under the sofa and Brussels sprouts carefully piled on the crossbar under the dining room table.  This last discovery really did happen, but it explained that peculiar smell... thanks kid.

The dog is the main dirt offender, though it's really not her fault (I would think she could shed outside, but apparently that's too much to ask). I suppose I could have her shaved (or lacquered).  Bruce is the second dirt monster.  He wears boots with deep treads and you cannot believe the crud and rocks and old worms and things that come in on those boots.  I married a man who takes not one step unless he has shoes on, so insisting that shoes come off in the house is a no-win proposition.  Not going to happen.  Margo and I are sock footed in winter and barefoot in summer (which freaks Bruce out beyond belief).  We're not tracking in that gravel.  Gotta be him.  He now has a new job, taking the area rugs to the cleaners.

Now, about that black and white checked kitchen flooring.  It was JUST what I wanted.  It is FABULOUS in the room.  However, several problems exist.  It looks dirty in about two seconds, and if you spill anything that might stain or make a large mark in the floor, who's going to take bets that it happens on one of those pristine white squares....?  You got it.  So do I, and I hate it.  Next kitchen floor is going to be the color of dirt and to heck with how it looks in the room.

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