That cleaning feeling

WESTERN BUREAU:

THIS HOUSE Husband thing is getting serious. It is changing my entire modus operandi. I remember the days a long time ago when I was incredulous at women who would get up at 3:00 a.m. and clean everywhere. I used to wonder why it couldn't wait until morning, 'cause the dirt will be there at 7:00 a.m. or 9:00 a.m., right? And you can see it even better, right?

Wrong. Now I know the itch when the house just feels crawny and you must clean. Now.

I didn't make it for 3:00, but I made it for 5:30 a.m. the other morning. I woke up, ready to make an immortal contribution to journalism. Brushed teeth, 'lick and promise' the face, yawned and went outside to ye old computer.

But things were just not right.

The computer desk was a clutter. So I straightened that up. Then Mansi's stuffed toys caught my eye. So I picked them up and arranged Pooh Bear, Tweety and Tigger in each other's arms. But there was something else in the chair so I took that up.

And then I got that feeling. That deep, cleaning feeling. The feeling that this place must be cleaned up and it must be cleaned up now. Everywhere.

Out with the wanna-be writer, in with the House Husband.

So while C and Mansi Peenie slept and snored in bass and treble, I did my thing. Now, when I am cleaning I am focused. I am in the zone. By the time they had woken up, one load was out of the machine and on the line,
the living room was almost done and I was moving on to the dining area.

So C wakes up and says something like, "You cleaning, though."

And I reply, "Where is the dusting cloth?"

"But you can't see the dust now, why don't you wait until later?"

"Where is the dusting cloth?"

Oh.

I must admit, when I am in the cleaning zone I am a serious man. I brook no interference. I brook no interruption. I brook no impediment. If I want the dusting cloth I want no arguments, enquiries or suggestions. I want the dusting cloth.

Now.

I got it.

So I cleaned and dusted and ran out of steam at about 8:30 a.m.

Now, for all of you who don't know, housework is hard work. Very hard work. I was tired, man, and the bedroom, bathroom and floors hadn't been done yet. I have the funny feeling that the effort is there, but the efficiency needs some brushing up. I get this niggling feeling that the ladies get a lot more done in a tad less time and with a little less expenditure of energy.

Anyway, I got a good start, took a break and finished up at about 2:00 p.m.

But darn, did it look good until about dusk, when the house started looking suspiciously like it was heading back to exactly where it was before I began my super effort.

Housework is not only hard. It is ungrateful.

Somehow, though, I have not got that cooking thing down pat yet.

Like this morning I was all fired up to do a couple cheese omelettes. I whisked the eggs and asked C: "Do you want escallion with that dear?"

"Do you want me to come take of it, dear?" was the reply.

You can tell a lot when a woman passes up an opportunity to escape the kitchen.

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