Recently I wrote about the carpet man moving furniture and discovering multiple messes, and you were probably thinking, “That woman is a pig.” I’m not denying it, but clean IS relative. As the carpet man said, “Your house is immaculate compared to the one I did before I came here.”
He described yellow stains all over the customer’s long white shag carpet, and the guy didn’t have any pets. “When I put the oxidizer on it, urine smell rose up like fog in a swamp. I know pet urine, and that wasn’t no pet urine.”
So I guess I can be proud that my house is not as disgusting as some guy who mistakes a white carpet for a white toilet.
I’d say my house is more neglected than dirty. I like that word – neglected. It sounds like I’ll get around to doing something at some point in the future. A filthy house implies that the place has crusty dishes and Burger King wrappers scattered like confetti.
Speaking of Burger King, I hate those commercials. Have I mentioned that lately? If so, it won’t hurt to touch on it again. If not, I’m WAY past due. That plastic headed King of Burgers is about the dumbest thing on the planet, and he’s got no personality whatsoever. He just appears in a bedroom or stands around waiting for someone to tip him over in a cow pasture, then rolls down the hill through cow pies wearing that stupid grin. I just don’t get those commercials. They had some other commercials before the King that I can’t recall except that they were insulting and/or tacky. I refuse to go to Burger King anymore because of them.
I bet whoever is doing their ads thinks they are luring in a new sector of the population, but surely ads shouldn’t drive existing customers away.
I worked for one day while I was in college at a Burger King. The floor behind the counter was SO greasy. I guess it was because of the “flame-broiled” burgers the sizzled grease must have risen up into the air and drifted back down on the tile floor. The tennis shoes I wore were Keds with flat, slick soles. The first time I walked behind there I felt like I was on black ice. I had to keep gabbing the counters and other employees so I wouldn’t fall and break my coccyx. To move anywhere, I glided my feet across the floor like I was on roller skates. I was forced to abandon my minimum wage service to the King so as not to risk my life.
I realize this has nothing to do with the tidiness of my house, but I could tie them together given enough time. Segue’s are my specialty! Oh, I know. That Burger King I worked at was actually a clean place. They mopped the floor several times a day, but due to a continual influx of customers, the burgers kept spewing grease on the freshly cleaned floor. A vicious cycle.
It’s like that at my house. If no one ever came through the door, it would be spotless. Instead, I’m over my head in laundry with my daughter changing every couple of hours because she’s a TEENAGER. Nobody in this house can butter a piece of toast without getting crumbs everywhere. The dog rolls in fresh-mowed grass and comes in the house to shake, creating a green area rug that gets tracked through the house. My husband uses the dining room chairs as his coat closet. Friends drop brownie chunks on the floor and step on them, leaving little trails of squashed black doughy stuff as they travel from room to room.
Yes I have nagged, but no one listens and I don’t enforce with the consistency advised in those “natural consequences” books. My husband and dog ignore me flat out. My daughter will do whatever I ask during each nag session, but later in the day she leaves her dirty dishes in the sink and I have to nag anew.
So my house is like Burger King. The continual flow of “customers” is what causes the “grease” that I have to “mop” all day and night. If I didn’t have that to do, I’d have time to keep up on the deep cleaning like clearing the cobwebs and getting a toothbrush into the cracks and hard-to-reach places I was so embarrassed about when the carpet man was here.
I wonder what he told the next customer after he left my house!