On Monday, because I’d let the housework go to hell the previous week, I decided I’d better clean. Properly. Not just one of those quick tidy-ups. So the bathroom thought Christmas had come early, and so did my cooker.Now, I rarely clean the inside of my cooker. Disgusting of me, I know, but I also know there are many others out there who don’t do that either (come on, admit it!). Said cooker had started to, err, smoke a bit and smell when I turned it on. That might have had something to do with the charred cheese that drips off pizzas (highly bugging) and various other bits of food that seem to jump off the trays while cooking.
A weird side of me wonders if food indeed has feelings, deciding it’s bloody hot in there, and attempts a break-out.
Okay, forget I admitted I think odd things like that…
Anyway, Husband, the dear, had the week off. As I don’t clean on weekends unless I’m feeling insane (he does it), he rarely sees me when I’m cleaning. I kinda forgot he was home and did my usual sing-and-dance routine, paying particular attention, and going at it with much glee, to the part in Aretha Franklin’s Respect where the backing singers go: Whoop!
So, I’m cleaning away…
What you want! WHOOP! Baby, I got it! WHOOP! What you need! WHOOP! You know I got it!
And then I remembered he was home. So I said, “Pardon me, dear, but this is how I act when I’m alone.”
Note those words, my beauties…
About an hour later, after leaving the spray oven cleaner stuff to do its work, I decided it was time to wipe that off and have a sparkling oven again. One where I can actually SEE through the glass door. (Don’t… I’m foul.)
So, I proceeded to take off my jeans.
Hubby looked at me as though he thought the same as the bathroom (Christ, Santa read my mind…) and asked, “What are you doing, love?”
“I’m taking my jeans off,” I said.
“Umm, is this another one of your daily rituals I’m unaware of?” (Possibly thinking: Just what does this woman do when I’m at work, for God’s sake? I thought she wrote!)
“No,” I said. “Just going to clean the oven.”
His confused face was TOO funny, and I went off to do my scrubbing in just my knickers, bra and top.
There was a reason for this mad behaviour. I’d been wearing white jeans. I’ve made the mistake in the past of cleaning while wearing this colour, or wearing black and getting a great big bleach splash on my clothes. But, you can bet your bottom dollar that now, when Hubby emails during the day and asks, “What you up to, love? Everything all right?” and I answer, “Cleaning the windows…” he’s going to be praying to the dear Lord above that I’m fully clothed and NOT outside with my knickers on show!
So, delightful bunch of readers, have you ever cleaned in just your underwear, or, been more daring and cleaned in the nude? Enquiring minds want to know...
