Ammonia perfume

My house is clean.

Deserves an epic delivery: "O! Hear me ye friends and especially hear me o my relations! I say to you, 'MY HOUSE IS CLEAN!'"

Partly because one of the aunties was coming for a short visit, partly because it was time to rotate the summer clothes out and the winter clothes in, partly because I just got up a good head of steam and one thing led to another.

It's lovely, I must say. We have white painted cabinets in the kitchen (not my choice, came with the house) and the least little spatter or drip makes them look like hell, so it's either constant vigilance, or just let them get grimy. You know which route I take here.

So after I cleaned them all Sunday afternoon, the kitchen now has an eerie brilliance. Am I dead? Is that you, Grandma? No, I'm just in the kitchen.

Same thing in the bathroom. I don't get real exercised over the cleanliness of the bathtub because without my glasses I am very nearly blind, and, obviously, I don't wear my glasses in the shower. Come to think of it, if I did, maybe I would have started going to the gym before my stomach had a chance to become an actual second ass.

Now that Mr. Librarian has scoured the walls and tub, well first of all it's a lot slipperier in there, but also, jeez, it's like teeth in a gum commercial. Ting! Like taking a shower inside an iPod.

And opening the closet in the boys' room is breathtaking. It's always been choked to the gills with boxes of once and future hand-me-downs, but I cleared it ALL out. Thinking of putting a lamp in there and making it a study. I could hide out and read my book!

It's not going to stay this clean for long. In fact, if I hold real still and squint, I can see entropy at work, slowly wiggling the puppets out of their basket; cat hair accreting in the corners of the stairs.


(And when I vacuum, I totally secretly see myself as Elastigirl. This is why me not watching much TV is probably a good thing.)