Bellyflop
Posted on October 2, 2006 - Filed Under Housing |
A Swiffer is going to be surgically attached to my ass.
How’s that for a mental image?
The houses now must be kept in a constant state of cleanliness. The agent has a key and can get in at any time to show the place. Since these visits are unannounced, the houses must be ultra clean.
Which brings me to my dilemma.
I’m a fairly clean guy. I don’t live in squalor or filth. Some of my friends are astonished that I have a can of Pledge. I dare not show them all the other chemicals hidden under the cupboards for fear of having my Man card revoked. But all the chemicals in the world can’t keep the house clean.
The hardwood floors are absolutely beautiful. Besides the kitchen, the floors are one of the stunning "selling points". But no matter how hard I rub my shoes against the outdoor rub, footprints always appear on my path. And since these are the only footprints on the floor, it looks dirty.
Dirty Floors? No problem! It’s SwifferJet time!
The only way I can see to avoid the footprint trail is to become a ninja. When the front door opens, I could throw down a smoke bomb and appear in the kitchen. I may have to give that serious throught. I do look good in black.
In addition to that, it has occurred to me that the bathroom of every house is the designated place where hair goes to die. I swear when I leave the bathroom in the morning, the white tiled floor is spotless. When I come home in the afternoon, four or five hairs have belly-flopped onto the tiles and are just laying there: hanging out and drinking beer. Ugh. The ones that don’t belly-flop make a long congo line and dance their way into the corners.
It’s revolting!
Barring the fact that I have dog DNA, I don’t understand where all this hair comes from.
Now you’re saying to yourself, "Cliff just isn’t seeing those hairs." Are you kidding me? Have you see the wattage of that light fixture in the bathroom? There are five bulbs producing 1.21 gigawatts of light pounding power. For shaving, I have to wear sunglasses. It’s crazy! The only way those little hairs could escape my sight is if I searched with my eyes closed.
My "morning preparation" ritual ends with the Swiffer. Everything is swiffered. The floors, the walls, the ceiling, Disgruntled Worker . . . everything. The thumb on my right hand is now permanently locked into the perpetual Fonzy state from holding that swiffer.
And it’s only been one week!
If the house doesn’t sell for six months, I’ll be crippled! But that could be a good thing. Then I could qualify for a handicap placard for my car. But then again, it’s California. If a mosquito bites you, you’re considered handicap.
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3 Responses to “Bellyflop”
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How about hiring a french maid?
Paty, there’s a video PodCast about everything. Even french maids. http://www.frenchmaidtv.com/
Cliff, take off your shoes when you enter the house and wear socks inside. Socks won’t mark the floor and it will be a form of swifter.