I am such a sucker.
I just got back from Costco where, with coupons, I picked up boatloads of Charmin toilet paper and Bounty paper towels (select-a-size), enough Windex to clean every pane in the new Pinnacle building and scrubbing sponges to last a lifetime.
What IS it about these places? As I put all this stuff away, I looked around my modest storage room. It is filled with the remnants of past trips to Sam’s Club and Costo. I must be somewhere in the annals of Proctor & Gamble. I AM their target consumer. I fall for every new method to scrape, squeegee, sweep, dust and mop. Want to know if a new product works? I’m your girl.
There in my little store room, there are Libman mops and brooms and every incarnation of Swiffer mops (wet and dry) yet devised. It’s a veritable Swiffer graveyard, or hall of fame, depending on your perspective. I’ve also got stacks of Kleenex in two different box sizes, presumably to offer a seasonal choice. (Big for winter colds, smaller boxes for milder summer allergies.)
I also have piles of old bath and dish towels, waaaay past their prime. “Good for polishing silver and dustrags,” I reason. I own two vacuum cleaners and a steam cleaner for the rugs and carpets.
One would assume the Pryor household to be, therefore, the very picture of order and cleanliness.
Virtually all entertaining is done past twilight, as the tasteful ambient lighting is, not only flattering, it occasionally obscures dust bunnies the size of a Pontiac. Why then, do I continue to amass an arsenal-like inventory of supplies?
It’s because I just love the THOUGHT of cleaning.
A sparkling, sweet-smelling (oh, did I mention the room deodorizers?), dust-free house is something I dream about.
I’ll continue to dream and give the house a lick and a promise when there’s nothing more pressing, interesting or exciting going on… or when houseguests arrive. After all, they’ll actually SEE the house in broad daylight.
In the meantime, should, God forbid, disaster strike, I may be foodless, but I am ever so ready for the cleanup.