By Heather O.
I got a new cleaning agent, an all purpose kind of deal that I bought from a door to door saleswoman. And while she didn’t show me a picture of her fake baby and tell me the money would allow her to buy a package of diapers, she did grin at me with a mostly toothless smile that left me with a strong need to call my dentist. I felt kind of sorry for her, and the stuff DID clean the grime off my car tire’s chrome, so I handed over a check and got a gallon of the stuff.
So of course, I have to try it out. Hmm, maybe on my screen door. She said it does windows–ahh, lovely. Well, what about the outside trim around the door? Will it clean the little spots of mildew and grime that have collected there? Ahh, even lovelier. Well now, there’s some grime I’ve missed on the bottom of the screen door. How long has THAT been there? The entire year we’ve lived here? Well we can’t have THAT, can we?
Yes, it’s true. Instead of actually shoveling through the crap that is scattered around my disastrous house, I am obsessing over some grime that nobody ever sees. Instead of doing the dishes that are stacked in my kitchen, I spent a half an hour scrubbing my front porch.
And now I’m blogging about it.
DH would like me to point out that he is mercilessly mocking me for my actions, as well as feeling vaguely hostile that I’ve left most of the mess to him with the definite hope that while I am attending the RS broadcast this evening, he will just magically take care of everything.
And yes, I am STILL blogging about it.
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