While sitting on the sofa, I glanced over toward the dining room and found myself confronted with an epic failure in my house-cleaning efforts.
Allow me to explain.
My typical method for cleaning the
house is something I refer to as “boy cleaning.” You might also refer to this
as “half-assed,” and you’d hit the mark. I call it boy cleaning because it’s
what you might get if you forced a boy between the ages of ten and eighteen
into a session of house cleaning. The kid is going to be a little sulky and
will hurry to finish. If sweeping the floor, rugs and tables will be swept
around, not swept under. Instead of picking up clutter, it will be stacked into
a somewhat more presentable pile. Dust atop tables and other surfaces may or
may not get sleeved off with the nearest shirt that has not yet migrated to the
laundry room.
You get the idea.
So, the last time I cleaned the
dining room, I boy cleaned. Posted below is a picture I captured with my
smartphone. If you look at the floor along the front of the hutch there, you’ll
see a sizeable patch of dust I missed in my hurried efforts. Also, if you visit
me at my house, please avoid looking under the tables.
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