“Spring Cleaning”

When I was growing up, my father was obsessed with cleaning. And not just the act of cleaning, but all the minutia and paraphernalia that comes with it. He lived, breathed, ate and well - cleaned - cleaning.

His idea of a fun Saturday was to visit the nearby Janitorial Supply Discount Outlet. He'd grab one of the big carts and roll it down the aisles of solvents, cleansers, polishes, brooms and mops with all the giddiness of a child with a VISA card at a Toys-R-Us.

He'd load everything into his pickup truck and drive home whistling a happy, clean tune. My brother and I, upon spotting the weekly truckload of supplies pulling into the driveway, would instinctively run out to greet him, excitedly asking if we, too, could please help him clean stuff.

Actually, I guess it wasn't exactly instinct that had us ask if we could help, it was a learned behavior. Instinct, of course, told us to run inside and phone an adoption agency. But we knew by this stage of our lives that it was better to just get it over with and spend the weekend cleaning rather than suffer the slings and arrows of our father's outrageous forehead sweat.

See, my dad has this way of sweating when he cleans that makes you feel so guilty that you can't resist grabbing your own personal toothbrush and joining in scrubbing the nooks and crannies of an already spotless house. The mere act of shaking some Comet into the toilet bowl was enough to break him out in a sweat more fitting for someone who's just run a 10K.

Guilt Sweat, we called it.

So it is no big surprise that as a child I developed a healthy hatred for all things related to cleaning. I swore that when I grew up I would seek vengeance on my father by living out my days in vermin-ridden filth and squalor until I caught a new, as-yet-unlettered strain of hepatitis and die a slow, miserable death. That, I figured, would show him.

My point, though, is that it's now spring, which means spring cleaning, which means writing a column of helpful spring cleaning tips. So, here you go:

** If you have kids, make them stay home every weekend and clean up microscopic bits of dirt. If you have trouble coaxing work out of them, and you aren't physically capable of producing your own Guilt Sweat, splash some water on your forehead when they aren't looking. They'll grow up bitter and resentful, but so what?

** Sometimes the filth, grime and caked-on stains from your long winter of discontent can be overwhelming. This is when it's good to remember that arson is always an option. But don't go for one of those cheap, do-it-yourself arson kits. Spend the money and have it done right.

** I saw on one of those nature shows that a colony of army ants can carry away large areas of forest in a matter of days. There was no specific mention of what they could do to beer cans and old pizza boxes, but it might be worth looking into.

** Using a large hydraulic jack, have a friend raise up one side of your house, trailer or apartment while you stand inside with a broom to guide the sliding refuse on its way out the door. After lowering your dwelling, remove the jack (careful not to pinch your fingers!), lock the door tight and don't use it again until the trash has blown away or decomposed.

** Don't forget to clean your other "house." There is no better way to cleanse the body from a winter's worth of fried après-ski appetizers than a hearty, brisk colonic. (NOTE: Keep in mind that a colonic involves having a tube inserted into your rectum and your colon pumped full of water and emptied again and again while you watch a winter's worth of "debris" float by in a glass tube illuminated by a fluorescent light - so, dress appropriately.)

** Move.

home

sign up to get
irrelativity
(yes, free)

read the
archives

buy stuff you
suddenly need

revealing info
about me