Today marks the third time in two months that my roommates and I have delegated cleaning day. It's not really a day. The actual duration is best compared to when you were at the public pool and your friends through in quarters in the bottom of the deep end and you hold your breath just long enough before you pass out.
Cleaning the kitchen primarily requires scrubbing week old coffee stains that were to mark like rings on a tree the time my roommate started his bar studies. He has claimed to have been tanning but I am lead to believe he is actually drinking so much coffee his pigment is changing.
In a very similar way I held my breath as I churched up bathroom duty for three of us guys. Don't get me wrong, it's not like we're some monkeys at the end of a ballgame...but it is a bathroom. It's like walking into a crime scene. There used to be life here. Just trying to rationalize the grime made me confirm that it is possible to be a guy that is like his mom. I would remember her asking us how we managed to get toothpaste so far up on the mirror. I now am baffled, maybe because I am the tallest one and I know that it wasn't me. Perhaps my sub-six foot roommate used his footstool to brush like a five year old?
There is a shower cleaning spray that claims that as long as you spray it after showers once a day, it will clean the tile itself. I don't really know if I buy that it cleans but at least when it still looks like a highway motel I can point the finger to the mute bottle of shower spray.
I have a dishwasher and love every minute of it. Now if I could just get one that loads and unloads automatically I would be really happy.
