Hi, group. My name is Karla and I’m a binge cleaner. *Hi, Karla!* I know, it’s hard to believe, right? My floors can’t remember when they last saw a broom or mop. Cleaning the tub requires dynamite and a pickaxe, and going to the bathroom is like giving bacteria a lap dance.
Nevertheless, Friday found me buying out the entire stock of magic erasers at Uber-Mart. I wore 102 magic erasers down to dust scrubbing my walls. By the end, my fingers were raw and bleeding, my fingernails were paper-thin, and my muscles put me up for sale and are moving to a condo in Florida.
As I was using the last magic eraser on the bottom of the French doors, I looked up and saw it: dog nose smudges all over the glass. Be strong, Karla. Just…walk…away. I came to on my neighbor’s doorstep asking to borrow a couple sheets of paper towels.
I’ve been able to go year after year without Spring cleaning. Why should this year be any different? It always starts out small. “I guess I can take down the baby gate from when my 30 year-old was a toddler.” That led to patching the screw holes, and using the touch up paint that came with the house and was now the consistency of petrified tapioca pudding. Then I saw it: the touch up paint was three shades lighter than my walls. Gah!
Three days later, my walls are clean, the cobwebs are gone, and I’ve put away the manger scene from Christmas. For three days, I didn’t turn on my computer, I barely ate, and each time I closed my eyes I saw dog drool and scuff marks. Regrets? I know I’ll have to live with the shame of totally losing control.
Maybe I can return to my slovenly ways, right after I return the rental steam cleaner and power washer. Note to self: pick up more paper towels today.