I HATE HOUSECLEANING

So my 20 year daughter is living with me, and my home looks like a frat house because she is a slob most of the time. She admits it, and doesn’t seem too bothered by it. I am.

This weekend I had invited some newish friends over for a bbq on Saturday and was determined that the damn house was going to be CLEAN. I’m not OCD about it or anything, but I have certain standards. For one, I like clean floors, clean bathrooms, and a clean and tidy kitchen. I don’t dust, and I certainly don’t do windows. Some of this responsibility for a clean home should fall to my temporary roomie, particularly now that she wants me to treat her like an adult, and stop “nagging her”. Oh, ok. Then I have a lazy slob for a roommate.

Needless to say, most of the cleaning was left to me, because it wasn’t on “her schedule”. Fine, I want it done, they are my friends coming over…fuck it. I’ll clean. If only it had gone smoothly…

The floors were very dirty…this comes from both of us walking back and forth with our shoes on, and of course, the other three resident pigs in the home – the felines. There is cat food and (clean) litter scattered from one end of the house to the other. I think it sticks to their paws, and comes off when they walk…however it happens, they are pigs…not cats.

So I vacuum up the first layer of dirt, then sweep twice, then mop, then sweep again, then mop, then sweep again. In order to do an effective job, I move out all the chairs and crap off the floor to the living room. My roomie does not do this, so there was a great deal of dirt in hiding. While the cat food is up on the table, I see Stormy heading to the food bowl like the pig that he is. As it is, he is at the trough constantly as is Pig Gee aka McGee. I holler at him not to spill it, and shove it back from the edge of the table. The floors had just been mopped up for the second time and I was fucking tired, wanting to sit down. Well no sooner had I hollered at him when he pushed the bowl off the table onto my freshly washed floor. Let’s just say the volume was turned up then and animals scattered, and roomie trembled upstairs (probably with laughter as she is never afraid of me). Got that mess cleaned up and mopped again, then swept again. Dammit the floors are dirty.

The bathroom was done half-assed by roomie, and she didn’t finally get the floors cleaned until about 10 minutes before company showed up. The kitchen, well I had to clean it several times, as roomie thought I wouldn’t mind a few extra when she made chocolate chip pancakes. Her version of cleaning up after herself meant chuck all the dishes she used into the sink, and wipe out the frying pan and stuff it back into the cupboard.

In the end, the house looked reasonably clean, but I was cranky and exhausted by the time company showed up. Roomie likes to comment often that the Queen isn’t coming, just my friends. What she doesn’t appear to understand is that I simply like a clean house, and company coming is just the motivation to get the work done.

And of course the day was not complete without injury…roomie seems to have difficulty in understanding the concept of replacing a drawer into it’s proper slot WHILE making sure it matches up with the drawer guides. I wish I had known that she had taken one in particular…as it crashed to the floor, or should I say, my foot. Now I have some purple bruising on it. Nice. Thanks roomie.

At least my house is clean now. Now she is at home for the morning, and I just KNOW the house will be a pigsty again by noon…