I am woman, hear me roar… Roar in your stupid face if you mess up my clean floor. That was an unintentional rhyme, but let’s just go with it.
I don’t know what it is about a dirty floor that drives me so crazy, except yes I do know exactly what it is about a dirty floor that drives me so crazy.
1) It looks gross.
2) It feels gross.
3) IT IS FREAKING GROSS.
You are walking barefoot through last night’s dinner, the dead skin cells of every person who has stepped foot in your house, your hair, your husband’s hair, your kids’ hair, your pet’s hair (which gags me more than anything else in the universe) and tiny little bug corpses. I’m not even stepping foot in the disgusting imaginary bathroom right now because you all know more than anyone else what is on that floor, especially if you have men/boys living with you.
(psst… it’s pee!)
WE HAVE NOW REACHED SOARING HEIGHTS OF GAG
This is the part that confuses me. I love a clean floor, but I HATE to actually clean it. I’m talking raw, angryfist, elbow-throwing, throat-punching hatred. There are several reasons why this is so. You may now enter my world of weirdness…
First of all, the kids and husband don’t stop moving all day, therefore leaving me the lovely time slot of 12am – 6am to complete the task. I guess I could literally lose sleep over a dirty floor, but I’d rather not.
Secondly, it requires me to move my arms, which is not such a bad thing except that rapid arm movement produces ample sweat in the pits. I don’t like to amply sweat unless I’m working out because it causes unnecessary shower-taking and hair-washing, which turns into unnecessary blow drying and styling… which I will have you know is the 2nd most hated thing in all of my life. My day just starts to get out of hand with the whole premature arm-moving thing.
I will, however, do the whole “spot mop” thing with a rag under each foot and pretend like I’m rollerblading through the kitchen 8 times a day, but will not take the actual mop out to just get it done all at once.
Also, if I take the time to clean it properly, I just know someone is going to walk through the room with dripping wet hands (JUSTIN, USE THE HAND TOWEL, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY) or a cup of drippy juice, so I guess I wait until there’s enough build up of miscellaneous drippings before I go insane enough to bust out the mop.
So according to all my weirdnesses, I would have to workout at midnight when everyone is alseep, be gross enough after the workout to take out the mop and use my already-sweaty arms to drag it across the floor, then take a shower and wash all the sweat, sorrows and miscellaneous floor drippings down the drain.
So what usually happens is I wait until the floor is truly horrible and gag-inducing, bad enough to send me into mop rage. I’ll put the kids down for a nap/shut them in their room with cookies if they won’t cooperate (a useful bribery tool), clean the floor at speeds reachable only by the Starship Enterprise, occasionally yell down the hall at the kids to STAY IN THE ROOM UNLESS YOU WANT TO SLIP AND BUST YOUR HEAD OPEN, and then sit down, relax and admire my sparkling floors. Then yell at everyone for the next month that they better not drip anything because I just spent a whole 12 hard minutes cleaning that thing. Rinse, repeat.
WHY do I do this to myself?? And to my family? They’re probably all huddled in one of the bedrooms thinking I’m insane. Or plotting some sort of cruel joke to send me into a hissy fit. “Jack, you go crumble up those Goldfish and sprinkle them down the hall. Make it look like an accident. I’m going to go work on the entry with some mud. She’ll flip out and make that crazy face… it’s going to be hilarious!”
Is it really so bad to just mop once a week? I think everyone has their chore that they absolutely can’t stand and will put off until it drives them nuts.
My name is Morgan and I rage mop. What do you do?
Real I [heart] Mopping shirt available at Zazzle, not that anyone in the history of the world has every purchased it because that would just be psycho. Not that I know anything about what it means to be psycho. Do-do-dooo…