The art of cleaning

As the pace of life gets faster, does that mean we become dirtier? Is cleaning one of the first things to go in order to keep up?

Or can we blame our parents…

Maybe it was their quest for us to succeed – to go one step further than them – that meant cleaning lessons simply gathered dust? They made the decision for us: less cleaning, more professional networking.

Could this be why twenty-somethings, thirty-somethings look at me blankly, almost stupidly, when I explain that I defrosted the freezer? (I haven’t done it yet – but I am thinking of it).

This question swiftly arrives on my messy doorstep as my soon-to-be-former flatmate moves out this week. She is… and this is the most nicest way to put it… allergic to elbow grease and blind to her own nasty mess (including the bathroom).

Don’t worry, I am not about to unleash a bile-ridden rant and take you down to the ‘emotional dump’ of fallen flatmates. She has, just sadly, brought to my attention the lack of passion for Mr Muscle.

I can sense you sceptically eying my plastic yellow gloves with suspicion – you think I am a ‘Monica’… I suffer from an anal need to control my surroundings… I simply have no life and cleaning is my substitution for social interaction…

Well, shame on you.

I have been described as easy-going, have friends and go out often. I am a normal person who enjoys a clean house.

But I have to say, when I say these words out aloud, it is I, who feels like a dirty social outcast. The shame of it is more to bare than the dusty side-boards I’ve just spotted.

So why is grime not a crime?

God, that was a little cheesy… but I bet you never thought someone who likes to clean has a sense of humour too.