I’ve developed a penchant for cleaning, almost to the state of obsession.
Not just since Covid-19 and the influx of wipes in wonderful shapes, sizes, fragrances and moisture levels.
No, the interest in cleaning products came before that. Not long before, I confess. For cleaning was a progression, like an acquired taste.
Like the way a hobby gradually encroaches one’s life until it takes over. Not an addiction of course, because hobbies are for good, not evil.
When I was a boy, just out of home, I saw brooms as a form of punishment. I’d never been beaten with one, but wrongdoing always resulted in some form of chore, and brooms played a role in a good percentage of those.
Then, as a young apprentice, it became work. The bristles started to talk to me as I cleaned up after workmates into the shadows of night.
They told me it was character-building. I can assure anyone that the only character trait that came with me swirling a mop around a dust-infested bucket of germy water was a perpetual disdain for my employer.
If anything good was to come of those days, it was motivation to move into a position where mops, brooms, scrubs and squeegees were somebody else’s problem.
Then along came Wanda.
She wasn’t the cause for my interest in cleaning agents and their superpowers. Yes, her desire for a tidy household was motivation, but definitely not the cause.
One in the same, you might say. We’ll argue the toss on that at another juncture.
You see, I too like neat surrounds. We’re not “eat off the floor” kind of people. But we do like to eat of plates that sparkle. On a bench that could be eaten off if that’s what we so desired.
As newly-weds, we were both contributing to a nest egg, which meant we were time poor. So I started discovering which chemical myth I could bust next.
Baking soda became my best friend. I ran out of stains to clean, so I moved onto glass. Vinegar mixed with alcohol helped rid the shower door of grime.
But there was rust emerging on those old taps, and it turns out vinegar worked on these too.
Like a hawk to a bushrat, I became focused. From scuff marks on walls to an old coffee stain which somehow had made its way into an old tile, I was on alert for a solution – a mix of chemicals, natural where possible, which would not only wipe out the grime, but which would add sparkle.
Back then, we didn’t have the advantage of millions of people contributing to the internet, so we’d have to talk about it at work, over the water cooler which incidentally wasn’t really a water cooler back then. More like a tap over a bucket. And what better place to start when working out how to floss the floors.
So there you have it. Knowledge is power, and over a generation of learning, I’ve chapters of tricks up my sleeve and even more friendships from the tips I’ve shared with fellow home maintenance folk.
I do continue to refine my skills. And I quite enjoy the results.
Call me mad. But you’ll have to join the queue.
