I live in a community, which is to say that my every breath is scrutinized by the HOA police. The homeowners’ association sent us a courtesy notice, indicating that they take offense at the green slime growing on the front of our house. This could be easily remedied by hiring a power washing service. Easy is not the way we roll.
We searched the yellow pages for someplace that rents pressure washers, and found that they are all located in North Carolina. This would explain why so many of the houses in South Carolina look like they’re molting. Not wanting to be caught crossing the border with contraband cleaning tools, we opted for a somewhat more primitive solution.
We have a ladder left by the contractors who painted our house. There’s a reason they didn’t want it anymore. The ladder has notches on it’s side, indicating all the people who died trying to clean out their eaves.
I drew the short straw, so perched precariously atop this demon-possessed ladder, I slopped bleach on the vinyl siding. My brush refused to stay screwed onto the telescoping pole, and I had bleach dripping in my hair and running down my shirtsleeves. My husband stayed safely on terra firma, squirting the hose to rinse my handiwork.
You would think that my medical condition would exempt me from hazardous duty. I’m allergic to sudden death.
All evidence to the contrary, I’m still alive. Even after a shower, I reek of bleach and Febreeze. That’s right, we Febreezed our house. If you’re going to go to all that trouble, you may as well have your siding smell like ocean breeze, or fresh linen. I thought I’d be proactive and head off any complaints from the HOA that my house stinks.
Hopefully, my neck and shoulders will have a chance to recover before our next courtesy notice regarding the placement of our ornamental Chevy. They probably will want us to weed-whack the grass growing around the blocks. The fussbudgets!