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A fresh look at cleaning hell

Man, did I give my living room an ass-kicking this weekend. You see, fall harkens the beginning of Cleaning Season. Summer is not the time to clean. There are things to do, festivals to attend, golf balls to be lost. We in the Great White North spend every moment possible outside during the summer. The living room had become this strange Dali-esque landscape, with no less than six pairs of my and Esteban’s shoes, several weekend newspapers, and roughly 11 empty Dasani bottles strewn everywhere.

But as we will be spending more and more time indoors, time to make it look a little less like a compost heap and a little more like a Television Watching, Sofa-Dining Extravaganza.

Thus, I kicked its ass.

The carpeting is all freaked out. It hasn’t been vacuumed like that for months. “I thought we had an agreement!” it kept whining at me as I ran and reran the Orick over it and deloused it with Carpet Fresh. It fought back with an attack of freefloating dust and Carpet Fresh, leaving me a snotty, sneezing wreck for the remainder of the afternoon.

Esteban came home and was in shock. All that cleanliness leaves him a little discombobulated. We’re not used to this lifestyle. He regained his composure and christened the newly cleared sofa by leaving a fast food bag upon its cushions.

So it begins.

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