Mrs. Clean

So the other day, I decided to scrub my kitchen floor, but not just with a mop. No sir, about once a month I get an itch and scrub the damn thing a la Cinderella. On all fours with this bleachy grout cleaner. Because the tile AND THE GROUT is white. In my kitchen, where food routinely falls from clumsy hands; where dirty shoes mark their way. This is because my MIL refurbished our apartment before we moved here a year ago. She decided on the tile, the cupboards, the furnishings and for the most part she did good.

I don't believe she thought about the cleaning requirement but rather of it's stark beauty. When it's brandnew it is stunning. She, like most of her fellow countrywomen, is obsessed with cleaning and not in a "heh-heh, I'm a tad OCD and I like things a certain way. She [they] is [are] of this essence that spurs people to believe you MUST Do Certain Things A Specific Way Without Deviation. It causes people here to IRON THEIR UNDERWEAR. And believe me, I wish I were making this up. She finds me amusing because I do not harbor any of these qualities. At all. I do not mind hy house feeling lived in. I do not mind a little dust. I do not iron period.

But I do feel the need to scrub my floor with a brush. Three times.

I think they're trying to convert me and the white tile was the gateway.