Spring cleaning is not my idea of fun. I’ve always envied those people who achieve stress relief through dusting and sweeping up a storm. Not me. I find serenity at Blondie’s with a plate of buffalo wings and a Yankees game.
Procrastination is what kills me when it comes to cleaning. Things pile up until they really start to bug me and then I lose a weekend to getting things back in order. It’s been a life long affliction, really. My mother used to joke that my childhood bedroom looked like the inside of an airplane after bad turbulence, with piles of clothes heaved and tossed out of their suitcases. Very funny, Ma.
I have a weekly ritual of dusting and vacuuming, but the plan to pull out the couch, move the bed, and really fight the war against dog hair with something more powerful than a Swiffer is something I put off as long as possible. In addition, I insist on using that daily shower spray, which totally doesn’t work, but at least it can stave off the big tub scrub. Sometimes, I think I would rather do algebra than wash the windows.
But the thing I’ve really been putting off is the oven.
Ode to my oven
So much pleasure and so much pain.
Oh, how I fear snuffing out the pilot light,
and perishing like a Victorian lady, in vain.
Ode to the oven cleaning blog (??!!) that persuaded me to go green
“In a spray bottle, mix water and baking soda to get your oven clean
Spray it once, twice, thrice, four more,
soon all the carbon will drip to the oven floor.”
Ode to the toxic oven cleaner, not green, but it works!
Ode to the SC Johnson Company, for coupons and perks!
Ode to the cleaning lady, who I ultimately paid to get it done.
Ode to the fact that spring cleaning ain’t my idea of fun.
*Rocco was frightened by the smoke alarm that went off as a result of the burning mac and cheese. I just couldn’t find a way to say all that in rhyme.
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