Life is pretty dull during the week. I sent the boys outside to play with their cpap hose so I could clean the house in peace. Had to. A guest is coming for a visit on Saturday. Thankfully. Having guests in the house really is the only way it stays clean. Well, cleaner than it usually is.
Darling Husband doesn’t really care whether or not the house is clean, as long as all the clutter has been collected into teetering piles and isn’t scattered across the floor. I sort of care whether or not the house is clean, but not enough to work at it too much.
Like—we really don’t care about that dusty fluff that sticks to the corners of the tub. You know those corners–where you can put a bottle of shampoo. I think I last cleaned the tub corners right before Christmas. Today I harvested the tub dust and made felted stuffed animals out of it. I’ll sell them on Etsy for $42.00 each. And really, why do showers/tubs need to be cleaned all that much? The only dirt in them is soap scum, and soap is soap—it’s clean!
Saturday’s guest is tall which is both good and bad. It’s bad because I only clean from my eye level down. Anything above 5 feet and I don’t see it. Like, the tops of the fridge. I can’t see the top of the fridge and used to worry that my tall guests were disgusted, until I heard this delightful bit of news: tall people expect dirty fridge tops. They’ve been known to say, “Eh. Nobody cleans the tops of the fridges. They’re all dirty. Don’t worry about it.” What happy news! It’s a brotherhood of dirty fridge tops.
The good thing about tall guests is that they bump into the three chandeliers, dislodging the chandelier dust, so I can vacuum it up. Saturday’s guest isn’t very good at bumping off the dust as he manages to dodge around the chandeliers. But our other tall guests are much more useful. We especially like it when Andrew and Mary come to visit. They usually manage to make it all the way to the end of the visit without hitting their heads on the chandeliers. But then, at the very end, when they try to corral their three sons out the door, they’re so busy looking down at their children that, bam! they (Andrew) bump into a chandelier. Andrew says, “Ouch!”, the chandelier arcs through the air, and the dust gently floats to the ground, like a delicate snowfall.
Unfortunately, Saturday’s guest will be making homemade bread for us while he’s here, so I’ll have to clean the kitchen. Dum da dum dum. I hate cleaning the kitchen. Hate it. I use cooking spray and every time I use it, it wafts around the room, coating everything in butter-flavored grease. There’re big wads of dust bunnies hanging on the walls in the kitchen. Big wads. The worst ones stick to the wreath and I don’t know how to get them off. How do you clean each little fake berry and leaf on a wreath?
The only reason I noticed all the dust on the wreath is because Joseph came to visit one day. (His name isn’t really Joseph. I call him and his wife Mary and Joseph, because I picture Mary and Joseph being like this couple.) Joseph is tall, and the wreath is eye-level with him. There he was, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, in the middle of a conversation, when behind him, I saw that the butter-flavored dust bunnies were reaching out their evil little paws toward him. “Joseph! Duck!” We had to beat them back with a broom. (The dust bunnies, not Mary and Joseph.)
Tomorrow will probably be just as exciting as today because I’ll be going through the paper piles. Fun.