What with one thing and another, we’ve been making heavy use of professional pet sitters recently (I found a service that lets me book online, without ever speaking to another human, but still sends the same actual human every time to take care of my furry darlings; basically, it’s the antisocial control-freak’s ideal and every business should adopt this model) which exposed a few unkempt corners around the house as well as kicking up a few dustbunnies within my psyche.
ME: I need to de-fur the couches before the petsitters come.
HIM: I’m pretty sure they expect our furniture to be… furry.
HIM: Well, you can wash the slipcovers.
ME: Meh. I’d still want to take a sticky roller to ‘em before putting them in the wash.
HIM: Well, vacuum then.
ME: (shrugs) I’ve got the sticky rollers.
HIM: Isn’t the vacuum easier?
HIM: Why don’t you want to vacuum?
ME: It’s just a hassle.
HIM: How is the vacuum more hassle than—
ME: I don’t like that closet door.
ME: … It’s heavy. And it sticks.
HIM: I’ll take it out of the closet for you.
ME: And the cord is a pain…
HIM: I’ll plug it in and set it up for you.
ME: Never underestimate my weird brand of laziness.
HIM: It’s so weird!
ME: I know! But watch me get bratty over the littlest things—
HIM: (confused) I would think the door and the plug would still be less upsetting than discovering there aren’t infinite sheets on a lint roller.
ME: (sagely) You would be wrong.
I can feel you rushing to judgement but if you could hold for just a moment to allow me to make a few points?
- Don’t suggest a Dyson—I know they’re wonderful because I own one. I just don’t know where it is right at this exact moment. (Probably in the storage room with the Meth Ghosts, who hide it again before they let me in.) For any overturned plant or sudden puddle that requires suctional intervention,* we use the shopvac.
- Hair control is a losing battle in this house. You’ve met Alexander Hamilton—of course everything is covered in “Hammy hairs.” I can clean top-to-bottom, eliminating every particle of fuzz, only to turn around and discover he’s climbed up on his favorite chair and is rubbing what looks like orange wool into it. (I’ve heard of double-coated breeds but I swear he’s triple-coated.)
- This is not, as someone recently suggested, a “cat thing;” I’m not afraid of the vacuum. (Though if you’d seen the state of my carpets, back when I had them, I would totally understand you thinking that.) I did vow to never again have a home so full of carpeted surfaces (currently our space is 0% carpet and that’s pretty much my ideal) because carpet is just not worth the hassle to maintain, especially for someone who hates vacuuming as much as I do; I will do countless other household chores before I pull out the Dyson—I once got an entire new training handbook and liability waivers drafted in an afternoon because I was putting off vacuuming the living room.
* How did I need to invent that term? Why has that not been in existence since the dawn of suction?