When I’m pissed, I angry house clean.
Which pretty much means my house is usually immaculate.
Maybe not right now, but when it is someone is bound to leave something in the way and I am, therefore, bound to grab the Windex or Lysol and huff and puff my way to a spotless bathroom mirror, clean floor or organized kitchen sink.
There is NOTHING I can stand less than grubby finger prints all over my mirror when I am trying to bring sexy back.
I want to know the culprit. I DEMAND to know, with paper towel and blue spray in hand, who DARED to write their initials in sneeze. There is a perfectly good toilet roll an arm’s length away until I look and, yep, whattaya know?!
THERE IS NO TOILET PAPER ROLL.
So, I replace it and LET EVERYONE KNOW I have replaced it and then I begin vaccuuming.
Because nothing cleanses the soul like crisp lines of vacuumed carpet.
Ahh, my special place!
Come Hell or High Water, you can find me vacuuming my pissed-offs away, every night, around 8 pm. If someone leaves a glass in the sink after I did the dishes, it’s possible that I may flip out and start pointing at all the bits of white something or other and Dorito shavings on the carpet I JUST CLEANED.
Just to be clear, I do not have OCD. I angry house clean.
Which is way better than naked house cleaning because, mainly, it doesn’t come with sex. And my exposed jigglies getting in the way of the nozzle.
Of course if it’s my mess, it doesn’t bother me: my kitchen table is an epic disaster right now; serving as my desk while I pack and get ready to move. But the snack bag that used to be filled with yogurt pretzels is most definitely not mine and the size-10 man flops are, yep, still not mine, and the towel ALMOST in the laundry basket is not mine either.
This is payback, folks.
As a teenager, I didn’t move jack shit. Not until I was thisclose to popping out the Kid at 21 did I put the chaos and path THROUGH the clothes away, open my hoarding closet, and discard, vacuum, and do all the dishes. My grandmother — when I was almost too old for grandmothers to do these things — made me sign a contract that I would start doing dishes.
Picking up after myself was epic torture back then, so logically I now torture my family about it. With the sanctimony and righteousness that only I can have.
{{ hugs }}
Oh, that is going to be one of the best things I’ve read on the internet that I’m going to pass off today in a real life conversation as my own and thereby become the funniest person in this town:
“I clean only when I’m pissed off, which would make my house constantly immaculate.”
Love it.
Also: reminds me of a joke I find hysterical: “So, the guy takes me home and says, Do What You Do Best, mama. So I cleaned his house.”
HAHA love it… and so true. I clean when I get pissed off too – sometimes after the burning tears of frustration. I also go into pure crazy-person cleaning when I’ve -oops I mean “they” misplaced something I need NOW. My family knows now to grab their gear and get the hell out when this happens. lol Great post – made me chuckle.
Ha! I angry house clean as well. Unfortunately for my house, I don’t get angry that often.
Cheney recently posted..Down In It.
I love that you do this! My mom always did this. I’ve done it too but not nearly enough. I hate cleaning it but do it because I love a clean house! A contract to wash dishes? That’s kind of brilliant! My mom paid me a quarter every time I washed the dishes. That still wasn’t incentive to do it much.
Chrisor recently posted..Mom’s The Word
AWESOME, AMAZING post! I can remember as a kid I would leave the house or hide when my mother was cleaning because she was an angry bear.
Now….I am that bear…….
Vikki recently posted..A tour of my mudroom/foyer thingy. My children. And poop. All in one post.