Jane “Conehead” Curtin really pegged it. Most earthlings don’t like to clean. It’s such a cliche to complain about it but it is the truth. If you have never picked up a broom or if you are Paris Hilton then you don’t need to read any further. You won’t understand.
Housework is very similar to the mail. Those poor postal workers never get a break. The mail just keeps coming. Housework is there day after day and sooner if you have kids. Especially if you have little ones. The stickiness level of your home will exceed all expectations. A candy apple left out in the August sun on a piece of felt is the only thing that comes close to explaining what it feels like to clean up after the under six crowd.
When my kids were potty training I would ponder all too frequently, whether something had poop on it or not. Gone are the days when my laundry is dry cleaned or put on the delicate cycle and hung to dry. Now my life is all bleach and stain cycle.
I am even willing to throw the women’s liberation movement to the wind when I say that a woman doesn’t have the physical strength to put fitted sheets on a king size bed. You truly need muscles and some magic powers. The pulling I need to do to make this happen is really absurd.
Vacuuming has its own set of problems. I am so annoyed by that one piece of something that the vacuum won’t suck up. If I’m using a vacuum cleaner I shouldn’t have to bend down to pick up an old princess tattoo that won’t get sucked up. I get personally angry at my vacuum cleaner for not doing its one job. It is the principle of it. I never thought I would ask for appliances as gifts but I have now become obsessed with finding the most intense vacuum cleaner on the planet. You know you are in trouble when you forgo a piece of jewelry for the latest Roomba.
Don’t get me started on bathroom mildew and grout cleaning. Years ago I believed the hype and actually purchased this device called “the scum buster.” I was duped. As my father always said, “Cleaning requires elbow grease.” He was so right. There really aren’t any shortcuts. Unless of course, you hire a full-time housekeeper. I can use organic cleaners or heavy duty commercial cleaners with fumes that make me have double vision but really it all comes down to scrubbing, effort, and movement. There is no magic wand.
I know some women who are so stressed from all the work they need to do in their home that they down monster size espressos and Pixy Stix on a daily basis. Personally, I prefer a margarita and a foot rub. To each his own. If mainlining sugar gets you through the madness then go ahead. It’s better than running through the house with your hands in the air screaming nonsensical stuff because you forgot to take the clothes out of the wash machine and now they smell like something the cat coughed up.
To all the lint balls, dust bunnies, and muddy floors I say,”You don’t own me.” How dare you try and do that to me. I am strong. I am woman. I can destroy you. So stop smirking at me. I will wipe that smirk off your little dust bunny face. And tomorrow is a new day for the destruction of the dirt.
