As John Merrick famously declared, I am not an animal.
But sometimes I feel as though I live like one, especially when it comes time to clean my house. I certainly do not mean to suggest that there are piles of old bones and tumbled heaps of sticks and rocks in the darker corners. Well, at least not in all of them. But there is a certain limit to my weekly routine that only becomes apparent when a serious seeing to is being given. Which brings us rather neatly to....
The Levels Of Clean
1. It's Saturday and Nothing Seems To Be Snarling or Moving On It's Own - Generally, this is the state in which we live; the secret to which our closest friends are privy; the ugly truth for which my mother will deny any genetic responsibility. Laundry is not of urgent concern and no one is particularly picky about having to reuse their coffee cup. The dish hider is our favourite appliance.
2. Friends Are Coming and Will Need To Eat Off Of / Sit On Something - As long as no one opens closets, uses the cat's bathroom, opens closed doors or checks behind the sofa, we will all get along fine.
3. It's (Food Holiday)! - At first glance this is similar to Level 2, but both bathrooms are clean and there is a general effort made to keep the house in this condition for the duration of the season, on the off chance that someone pops by unexpectedly, in need of a fancy bowl or the Murder Room.
4. Sweet Thundering Crap On A Cracker, My Mother / Mother-in-Law is Coming - Not only are the closets inspection ready, but actual dusting has been attempted and all traces of the Mystery Beast have been removed from under sofas and behind the fridge. Ellen could look and does look anywhere. Lovingly and with great attention to detail.
5. Buy My House - If my Mother and Mother-in-Law visited on the same day, with the Queen of England and the Dalai Lama, my house would not be cleaner. No one lives like this. Kill me now.
Dedicated to the manufacturers of Lysol Brand Disinfectant Wipes, Swiffer Wet Jet, and Lemon Pledge.
