In a few days we will be hosts to a friend/colleague from California. I’m using today to whiz around the flat cleaning and tidying, mopping, washing, fluffing, fussing, all to make it appear as though we don’t hunt our nightly meals from dumpsters or the woods. We don’t, for the record. Don’t let the campfire and spit in the living room mislead you.
The grocery shopping delivery just arrived and I was holding off the bathroom cleaning until I got my new sponges (ones that don’t harbour the plague) and new-fangled technology called Bathroom Wipes. Seriously, they put cleansing fluid in convenient moist sheets. [I know they’re not new, but my inner society critic is cringing with how this product seems necessary.] I was thrilled to indulge, using our upcoming house guest to justify need, as I’m typically a bit old school with my elbow grease and an arsenal of very basic solutions. My grandma would be proud, but I also have horrific nails and cuticles to show for it. So the Bathroom Wipes?
Well let me tell you– they don’t make Bathroom Wipes for me. Maybe they’re meant for Martha Stewart’s house, or someplace already sealed in a sterile bubble, but forget their claims of limescale relief and cheesy Photoshop sparkles added to the World’s Cleanest Bathroom graphic on the package, these things are not meant for the woefully neglected sink. I’ll give them credit though– they’re dandy on toilet seats, but I think I was managing that task just fine already.
Now that the magic has worn off, I know I won’t buy them again, but it was worth a try. After I scrub the limescale, soap, shaving cream, and artists’ paints (see the current projects here), then I can use these to maintain appearances while the guest is here. I suppose that’s worth something. If this is the biggest letdown of the day, then it’s going to be a pretty good Monday indeed.