Cleaning v. Straightening

So we are trying to clean our apartment before we leave next week. No one should come  home to a dirty place after being away. I discuss cleaning with Keanu and he says things like, “we need to get rid of some of the man’s toys so they are not spilling out of the toy box.” Then I say things like, “but that is not cleaning, that is getting rid of the clutter. I am actually talking about cleaning the dirt, like off the floors.” Keanu equates cleaning with picking up the gazillion star wars weapons strewn all over the floor, getting rid of books not being read and taking the unused drum set out to the curb. But I want to clean, like tie a kerchief around my head, haul out the box of baking soda (the best cleaning agent by far, why they haven’t marketed it as a green cleaning solution in more cleaning friendly packaging is beyond me), get down on my hands and knees and scrub the hell out of something.

I asked him if he would clean the bathroom. Despite initial reluctance, he agreed in the afternoon. His method is vaguely mad when it comes to bathroom cleaning. He shuts himself in there and then hauls out the heavy duty stuff, like the bleach and stays in there with zero air circulation for a long time (can I just say that I love bleach. You could take bleach and pour it around the worst bathroom ever, like the one in Trainspotting where Ewan McGregor goes in the toilet, and I would just smell that bleach and think it was clean in there). I make sure that I hear him moving around every so often just to make sure that he hasn’t passed out from the toxic fumes. He emerged shortly after going in and grabbed a trash bag, a big one. It was then I knew that he was really going for it. He had decided to clean out the cabinet of chemical horrors in our bathroom which was full of Raid cans for killing giant roaches, weird cleaning products he had inherited from a former job and loads of other scary and never used chemicals.

When he was done, the floor in there was wonderfully clean and shiny. The scary cabinet now had room for the iron which had previously lived on the back of the toilet. A bag full of toxic stew was taken out of the house and overall I was pretty impressed. He did a great job and he did it his way and in his time. To show my appreciation I was designated driver after a visit to our favorite place to drink beer. He had one more than me, came home and promptly fell asleep (about seven). I just hope he knows how much I appreciate him despite the fact that many, many times I fail to tell him or show it. And I know that even if the bathroom looks like the Trainspotting one in November, when I come back in December, it will look like it looks today.

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About nematomorph

Living like the rich and famous, splitting time between Hawaii and New York.
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