Kimopolis

Lucy's Deadly Arsenal of Cleaning Supplies

Why does my housekeeper think that spraying everything with different flavored cleaners truly CLEANS anything? It’s not ACID. If it were, it’d destroy the bottle it came in. Personally, I think she thinks the “scrubbing bubbles” are real and apply to all cleaning products (even Windex). She doesn’t seem to think any real physical labor should be involved when cleaning the house. To her, if it smells clean, it is clean. Okay, then why are there ten different spots of dirt in the grout in my shower? Because you need to SCRUB it, Lucy. Lightly spritzing with Tilex is NOT going to cut it. Plus, by the time she leaves, the air in my house is TOXIC. If all windows and doors are not opened immediately after she’s done, suffocation from lack of oxygen is a definite possibility. Apparently my incessant sneezing and hacking while she cleans hasn’t alerted her to the fact that she is ASPHYXIATING me. I know she’s secretly hoping one day she’ll kill me.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice that someone else cleans the toilet (although, I’m pretty sure she just squirts in whatever the 99¢ Store’s version of Tidy Bowl is, and then flushes it a few hours later, because I’ve never seen her even hold a toilet bowl brush before). It’s great that I don’t have to dust the bookshelves (even though she usually gets the idea to go sweep the patio mid-dust and then completely forgets to put the books back on the shelves). And you’ll never hear me complain about not having to vacuum or mop (though you can never be sure she’s done either of these things unless you actually see her doing them). Honestly, it’s a good thing my house is never actually dirty.

I want a maid who comes into my house fully equipped: rubber gloves up to her elbows, knee pads, and a bucket filled with brushes, scrubbers and industrial strength cleaning products used only by professionals. I want “The Cleaner” from Point of No Return and Pulp Fiction. I want Harvey Keitel. I need a man who can destroy any traces of blood, hair, fingerprints and dead skin cells (and, if need be, an entire corpse). Harvey Keitel is my ideal maid. I’m sure if I told him that he’d have me whacked (or offed, or whatever it is those professional killers do). But, you know what? He’d sure as hell do a better job cleaning my house than Lucy.

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