I know I'm
not alone in this but maybe will be the only one to confess in public
that I have no plans to be one of the crowd. Spring cleaning frenzy
season is upon us and I'm not falling for it!
As women (and some
men, let's not be stereotypical here!) across the nation twirl feather
dusters like batons with dazzling dexterity into every corner of the
room and vacuum the drapes with the proper attachments, I'll be hunched
over my keyboard pretending the reason I can't see sunlight streaming
through my windows is it's overcast out there. No sir, nothing to do
with the dirty panes. Perish the thought.
You know, grime isn't
a crime. At least not last time I checked the law books. Unless of
course you're knee deep in filth, which I'm not. I'm just not someone
who enjoys spring cleaning much. I hate the whole concept. There, I
said it. I clean enough the rest of the year to really not want to do
any more than I can get away with. Too many hours of my life could be
spent doing something I love instead.
Can you imagine if it was
though? The ominous rap of knuckles on the door reveals none other than
The Grime Prevention Unit who enter barking " Spot Check!" in unison.
Clipboard Man comes armed with triangle men (you know the kind I mean -
big muscled shoulders, skinny waists), who immediately head for the
sofa against the wall.
" I...I was going to move it this weekend
and vacuum under it...", you mutter weakly while trying to kick your
abandoned shoes behind the TV stand before they see them.
A
squeak escapes you that Mickey Mouse would have been proud of when
their eyes turn towards the freezer. "It's...uh...err...there's too
much food in there for me to defrost that just now!" you shriek,
knowing full well that its main content is enough ice to sink the
Titanic. You hope they don't ask what's in the obligatory mystery
aluminum foil wrapped parcel that every freezer owner has.
Clipboard Man turns to you, his scowl deepening behind thick lenses as he sniffs the smoke tinged air.
"Any Febreze in the house?"
"Well, uh, it's on my shopping list and..."
"That's a no then." A large red cross is checked against the Fresh as a daisy box.
"Any
window cleaner? Though I doubt it." Triangle men laugh on cue while
elbow deep down the back of the sofa. One of them retrieves with a
flourish the vacuum attachment that's been MIA since three days after
you bought the contraption.
"YES!! YES I DO!!!!...Oh no wait,
there's not enough." With your moment of triumph ripped asunder by the
measly few tablespoons of azure blue liquid lurking under the sink, you
resort to babbling in fear.
"You know how it starts to run out
and there's still some in the bottom of the bottle but the trigger gun
thingy can't quite reach it so when you squeeze it all you get is foamy
bubbles and a wheezing sound, I hate that I really do, why do they make
them like that, you pay for all of it and can't use all of it and I
think it's daylight robbery and..."
"SILENCE!!" He wipes a
finger disdainfully along your window ledge, sending dust motes dancing
merrily. "I've seen enough. Lock her up, boys."
Thankfully,
grime isn't a crime. If it were, I'd be karate chopping those cobwebs
more with the best of them. But for today, I'll just scribble and give
thanks no one will ever inspect my culinary skills either. Maybe
someday I'll share the crunchy eggs story.
"My
second favorite household chore is ironing. My first being hitting my
head on the top bunk bed until I faint." -Erma Bombeck
Kay's articles, musings and poetry have appeared in both internet and
print publications over the years. She writes on a variety of subjects and you never quite know where her mind will wander. Kay loves to hear from fellow writers! You'll find her slaving over a hot
keyboard at her blog, Hill Holler, or editing The Cuckleburr Times, an online magazine for writers of all experience levels - created by writers, for writers. Submissions are most welcome there. Please feel free to reprint any of Kay's articles. All she asks in return is you include this bio exactly as it is.
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