When my walking buddy phoned this morning, I croaked and snarled that my throat was raw and I was going back to sleep. Once I did get my motor going an hour later, I considered driving over to the mall for some air-conditioned dork-walking. Wandering out to the kitchen to make coffee and poached eggs, I discovered that the package of chix boobs I was thawing in the fridge had leaked all over. Gross! My mom would be horrified. Time to clean and disinfect!
An hour later I had taken all the food out, and removed and washed all the parts of the fridge, even ones I never knew were removable. Stood on the stepstool and cleaned the top of the fridge.
Another hour, and I had pulled the refrigerator out. Mopped the floor underneath. Vacuumed the fuzzy dust off the back and pulled off the back panel to vacuum the dust-packed innards. Emptied the beverage storage cart next to the fridge (one of the best $21.95 purchases I ever made), and washed it in the shower. Started the self-clean cycle on the oven, and washed the burner drip-pans. The Ventures and the Spencer Davis Group were in the cd player, and I was doing the Swim, the Pony, the Frug, and the Limbo as cleaning fumes altered my reality.
Another hour for cleaning the counters, the inside and out of the microwave and toaster oven, and removing the glass globes of the dining area light fixture to wash. Up stepstool, down stepstool. Feel the burn!
By now I had entered that rare primitive berserko cleaning rhythm where no grime is safe. I vacuumed baseboards and under the oven. I cleaned the counter backboards (or are they backsplashes?) with Clorox disinfecting wipes that work better than anything I've ever used. I was in The Zone! Don't stop me now! I put Old English on all the cupboard doors. Hauled trash bags to the dumpster. Swiffered Dry and Swiffered Wet. Cleaned the exhaust fan.
Would I clean more often if it required a day-glo Spandex outfit? Hardly. Do I feel ten pounds lighter? You bet!
1 comment:
You better believe it!
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