To Clean or Not To Clean…
Unlike Hamlet’s famous soliloquy, my contemplation of housework usually results in a swift “not to clean.” After all, I detest housework. Don’t get me wrong… I love a clean house. I just don’t like the thankless task of making it so.
However, with my new role of “unemployed,” I have lots more time available, and confess the thought of giving my house a thorough cleaning has crossed my mind. In a moment of temporary insanity, I even claimed “Clean the House” would be one of the first things I tackled.
Bless his heart, my husband kept a straight face and did not laugh.
Fortunately, he hasn’t held me to that promise. He doesn’t have to. The Springtime ant invasion—exacerbated by all the recent rain—has forced my hand.
This weekend, I found myself in my shower, throwing Ajax against the walls like it was holy water, yelling “the power of Christ compels you” at the soap scum. A few hours later, the smell of Clorox and cleaner up to my elbows and a sheen of perspiration on my brow, my house was clean. I’d successfully exorcised the demons and dirt—and hopefully the damn ants—from my home.
What a sense of accomplishment! Not unlike overcoming some huge obstacle you’d prefer to simply ignore and hope it would go away. Nope, I took on that big ugly obstacle, slathered it with 409, and came out on the other side with a house as pure as these tired fingers could make it. I breathed in the fresh scent of Windex. I gazed in pride at the spotless rooms.
Then my husband walked in from cutting the grass and tinkering in the garage… and headed straight for the shower to “wash off the grime.”