There You Have It! Anectdotal Musing by Dani Gruber, special to Mountain Valley News
I apologize to all the avid housekeepers in advance. I hate housekeeping. I believe it should be done as little as reasonably possible. Sometimes, other people’s versions of “reasonable” come in conflict with my own. For instance, if there is a slight breeze and a kite in the corner, it is entirely reasonable to postpone dusting in lieu of kite flying.
It could be construed as entirely reasonable to do a lengthy gravity check by sitting on the couch instead of cleaning. This is reasonable because if gravity were to be interrupted, only the alert would survive. My mother would perish. Clinging to her running vacuum, she would continue to vacuum as her legs lifted off the ground and she began floating into orbit until only the suction of the vacuum cleaner would keep her earthbound.
My mother's version of reasonable has been at odds with my own for a long time and she has completely ignored my warnings of potential gravity interruptions. Our respective differing opinions of reasonable became most evident during my college years with the housekeeping in the first house I rented. My concern grew when I realized she carried disinfectant with her when she visited me when I was in my new home.
It was a charming house, but small. It was originally a one-car garage that had been converted. It was yellow and brown, and reminded me of a chocolate chip bag. In fact, upon realization of that single compelling fact, the deal was done.
My mother and I looked at another place, but it had a deranged, previous tenant who broke windows trying to get back in, unable to realize he did not live there anymore. Visions of several horror movies filled my head instantly. It had a red, shag carpet that, I was certain, would hide bloodstains, and when the wind blew it sounded like eerie violin music. Needless to say, the spotlessly clean Toll House got our ringing endorsement.
Moving in with me was Sidney, the big German Shepherd/Blue Heeler mixed breed dog. The owner was not wild about dogs, but he said he had never had a bad tenant who brought their mother along for the viewing, so he got over the dog, and I moved in and promptly started college.
In addition to school, I got an office job, but still did not have enough to pay for my car payment. That marked the birth of my cartoon strip, Her Side. Between school, office job, and cartooning, I was bushed. To keep my head above water, I did minimal excessive cleaning. Laundry, for instance, was considered excessive. Wax build-up on the floor? Definitely excessive. Cheetos on the couch? Excessive. So, I justified it as a special dog treat . . . which probably explained why I came home one day to find the entire couch partially digested on my living room floor and a very guilty looking dog burping up white cushion stuffing. Suffice it to say, despite these hiccups, my vacuum cleaner enjoyed the life of a retiree.
Sidney, my dog and companion, enjoyed lying down in the bathroom, near the toilet. (Good to have fresh water nearby for when one accidentally consumes the couch!) She was a tight fit there, and she was hairy. As she would wiggle to get stationed, hair would shed and pile up in the corners. No bother. This wasn’t hurting anyone, and truly, as busy as I was, I really did not notice. That is, until future-husband Ken stopped in and needed to use the bathroom.
“Hey, what kind of molding is this in your bathroom?” he asked. “It’s beautiful.”
“What molding?” I asked, not having ever noticed molding in my bathroom.
Suddenly I heard a long, drawn-out, “Eeeewwwwwww! Gross!!!”
Turns out, Ken did not appreciate furry molding in a bathroom after all.
The upside, if there is one, is that after marrying me, Ken could never complain seriously about my housekeeping. Certainly, he was forewarned of my relaxed approach to it. That inch-deep dog hair, curving gracefully from the floor and climbing up the wall has done more for me than you can imagine. I’m happy to say, even now, my vacuum is…like new.
