We’re getting visitors tomorrow. I’d tell anyone else not to worry about what state their house was in – and for God’s sake don’t clean anything. But this is me, my mother’s daughter so I’ve cleaned for three days. One of those days I cleaned the handbasin and rubbed the spit marks off the bathroom mirror in the ‘general’ bathroom. That’s the one the visitors will use and the same one my husband uses every morning (unless there are visitors). I am astonished every time I have to do this. I mean – can he not just spit in the damned basin so at least I’ll only have to clean one thing? Obviously not. I also had to clean the bath. No-one’s used that bath for 2 years. Who knew that it’d still get dirty? The bottom was layered with the bodies of all the flies and spiders who died in it. Some of them had been crunched under the heavy footprint of the window cleaner in December. Whew. Glad I got in there before the visitors.
The second day I cleaned the kitchen. It had been on the Spring Clean list and it’s now mid summer but I pride myself on the fact that our kitchen cabinetry is a mix of blond wood and grey veneer and if you slop gravy down the front of those cupboards it takes months before you even notice. I decided it was time to scrape off the gravy. And when I pulled out the drawers to get the dried drips off the top edge I couldn’t help but notice how the insides were littered with crumbs and assorted crap so naturally they had to be cleaned as well. Did those, gave myself a medal.
Today….day three (with a rest period of several days in between), I did the emergency vacuum. That involved the heavy vacuum cleaner Mum and Dad purchased from one of those people who broke down and cried when they asked her to leave the house. I don’t think she needed to do that. She should have had more faith in her product. It is without a doubt the best vacuum cleaner I have ever used. It pulls like a rabid dog but I don’t think you can have everything can you? It also cost three times the amount of an ordinary vacuum cleaner and has a weird name. The contract specified Mum and Dad had to buy special bags from the crying girl’s company and to have it serviced every year. Guess who was the only company in Christchurch who did that? You can safely assume now it’s mine it’s never been serviced and I buy the bags off the internet. Anyway, I did the deep clean with the various heads on the end of the pipe and sucked up a zillion spiders and their webs and in a bit of future proofing, I also sucked up their babies. After that I washed the kitchen floor. And the dirty part of the dining room floor. And zigzagged the mop across the fastest route across the living room. Then because the floor washing product was in the pantry and standing alongside this special magical cleaning product for the shower, I thought I’d better wipe the dead flies off the bottom of that as well. I was interested too in seeing if the magic cleaner could deal to the pink toned mould on the sealant around the drain. I was arse up in there getting gassed from the amonia and the idyling car directly outside the open bathroom window when my loving husband poked his head in and said, ‘What’s that grunting sound?’
Anyone with a brain could have worked out it was the sound of a chubby woman sandwiched in the narrow opening between two glass shower doors and hovering over a tray liberally sprinkled with a product she knew was full of ammonia that she was trying not to inhale or get on her good top. Luckily his emergency warning system still works and he’d made a strategic withdrawal before I hauled myself upright and thought about the spitty mirror.
Oh, if you are reading this and you’re staying overnight at our house tomorrow, welcome! I haven’t done anything. Much.