I’m a self-admitted magazine whore. It’s not something I boast about, nor something I hide from plain site, it just…..is. So nothing tickles my funny bone and cracks me up than these articles I read in these magazines about how I can clean my whole house in ‘just minutes a day!’
HA! Really?! Obviously these bitches haven’t been to my house. I currently live with a hairy Italian husband that sheds more than a rabbit-hair sweater, a pre-teen daughter that changes clothes 6 times a day and thinks toothpaste is bathroom accessory, and a 3-year-old son that will only poop in a pull-up and thinks dirt is a food group.
So let’s compare Martha’s List vs. Real Life.
STEP ONE: “Disinfect your sink once a week, then you only have to do minor clean-ups that take minutes a day.
Really? In my house, dishes are used more than toilet paper and a daily swipe of the house could turn up random forks and plates found in the most inappropriate places, including sippy cups that went on the MIA list a week ago, now filled with coagulated milk, producing a smell that would disgust a dog. Throw an armful of those in the sink every day and see how ‘sparkling’ your sink would be Martha!
STEP TWO: “Insert a toilet cleaner disk in each bathroom that automatically cleans with each flush. Follow with a purifying scrub once a week.”
Really? I live in a house with people that truly follow the mantra ‘If it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, flush it down.’ So imagine all that ‘yellow’ sitting in a porcelain bowl for hours-on-end, and then imagine the amazing colors that acidic urine turns said bowls. Yea, yummy! Then imagine my even more colorful mumblings as I scrub that (non-literal) crap down the tank, where it should’ve gone in the first place. No toilet disk could handle that amount of piss Martha!
STEP THREE: “Spritz the bed sheets with Fabreeze once a week for a just-laundered smell.”
Really? Unless Martha’s family doesn’t sweat, fart, cough bodily fluids nor shed skin cells and hair like most humans, then, uh, that theory won’t work in this house. Fabreeze is nothing than a band-aid on a sore that just keeps oozing. Hungry now Martha?! Excuse me, I’ve got a load to throw in the wash. Again.
STEP FOUR: “Have a designated spot for shoes so they are easy to find. Easy on, easy off, and less mess for the house.”
Really? I went out and bought 3 rugs for that specific purpose. One for the front door, one for back door and one by the garage door - the three points-of-entrance in the house. Easy-peasy, right? Somehow, an amazing feat of gravity and purpose occurs where the shoes end up everywhere but those damn mats; as well as all the dirt, snow, salt, grass clippings, and gravel from the outside that they were originally intended for. So I want Martha to come to my house every day, strap on her big-girl-clear-platform-stripper heels and vacuum my hardwood and carpets every day like I do. Work that Dyson, bitch. Work it!
STEP FIVE: “Arrange your refrigerator according to category: meats, dairy, beverages and produce.”
Really? With 4 separate sets of hands in the fridge at all hours of the day, organization is that last thing that touches it. On major shopping days, when I have control of what-goes-where, it does nothing but confuse people. So needless to say, 3 days later, the onions mate with the tomatoes, the Pepsi cans create a (literal) dent in the lunchmeat and the salad dressing is keeping company with the milk? And on occasion, I find the surprise Matchbox car buried within the Parmesan cheese. GHAAAAA! I’ve given up. So Martha, if you want to come and stand guard of the Beloved Refrigerator, then bless your precious little heart. Oh, BTW, the 3-year-old’s habits of entering the fridge have gotten so bad that we’ve recently installed a child lock, and he has no concept of the word No. Good luck with that!
So I’m thinking of publishing a new magazine called “House Beautiful for the Exhausted Mama” that highlights feature stories of how the rest of us live, along with unattractive, realistically repulsive photos for added appeal. Care to subscribe?