Yesterday morning I pulled the steam mop out and had to dust it.
I mean, I know it’s been a while, but really. It put me in mind (no doubt unfairly) of feminist theories on white goods, which point out that the user-unfriendliness of said goods meant any time ‘saved’ in domestic service was rather re-invested in cleaning their so-called time-saving devices. You know. Because some idiot decided to make them white, instead of a more dirt-friendly colour, like brown.
Tangentially, I am reliably informed that some people do NOT use a vacuum to clean the regular household items upon which I exert its influence. The number one item in question is the fridge. What, you’ve never vacuumed a fridge? How do you get rid of all those irritating bits of onionskin dandruff from the bottom of it, then?
As enlightening as this news was to me, it failed to address the question of ‘how come?’ Is there some kind of pride issue I’m not getting here? You need to use a cloth because why, it’s not a floor? (It’s a kind of floor, though, when you think about it. In fact, I believe I shall begin referring to the bottom of the fridge as ‘the fridge floor’.) You’d be singing a different tune if it was one of those huge industrial fridges where they keep dead cows, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t be picking up onionskins with a cloth then, eh?
Not that they store onions & cows in the same place, but you get my meaning.
And did you know steam mops work very well on shower tiles? No, I’m not really sure shower tiles are designed to withstand such extremes of heat either, which is why I’ll be petitioning NASA for a few spare space shuttle tiles. C’mon, they must have a few lying around.
Finally, after my successes inside the house, I moved to the garden. A combination of Sydney water restrictions and my own laziness has meant that even my weeds are dying. I am putting my faith in this new all-purpose soil wetter/plant food/’contains trace elements’/fish refuse product. It is a thick black sludge like soy sauce only far more frightening, and has an aroma I can only describe as ‘a bad year at the fish markets’.
Now, though you may still be unable to *hear* the ocean in my garden, in certain spots you can certainly smell it…