Bathroom Cleaning Part 2
In the last post I mentioned I volunteered to clean the upstairs bathroom on a weekly basis and Leigh gave me a training session. When she left, I looked around and decided to start with the tub. I have rinsed tubs before. I have also watched it get so grungy that I barely wanted to step in.
Now I was on my knees, scrubbing it inch-by-inch. It was an eye-opener. Here was a mere one-week collection of all types of things I’d washed off my body. There was a lot of hair. But there was also just –I don’t know—scum.
Humans are walking dirt balls and there’s nothing to be done about it except to wash all the collected dead stuff off your body, then get rid of it with Bartender’s Friend.
I moved on to the toilet. Using the Lysol wipes, I was again closer to a dirty toilet than I’ve ever been. It was not a pretty sight. What made it worse was the knowledge that these were my stains. For the most part, these were marks only a male can make.
But as I scrubbed and wiped something miraculous happened. The toilet gradually turned gleaming white before my eyes! It was transforming into something beautiful. In fact, it was so beautiful I wiped it down again just to see if I could heighten the gleam.
I scrubbed the inside of the bowl until it, too, gleamed. I flushed and watched the crystal clear water swirl around the blinding white sides of the porcelain bowl. If toilets had feelings, this one would be beaming with pride.
Inspired, I moved on to the sink, shook out some Bon Ami and began scrubbing. Toothpaste and spit stains were rubbed off. Beard hairs and flecks of pipe tobacco were swept away. I cleaned the mirror and washed the walls.
Then I stood back and looked around. Listen, when you make your living as an administrator and writer you don’t always see the results of your work. Today I stood there and basked in the results of my labors—a spotlessly clean bathroom!
I walked out so I could walk back in and appreciate it with a fresh eye.
The pride in ownership took a toll however. Later, I had to use the toilet. I looked down at its graceful curves flawlessly white. I lifted the seat with a loving appreciation I had never felt for a toilet seat. I unzipped and took aim and . . .had second thoughts.
I didn’t know if I could go through with this.
I was suffering PTCT –Post Toilet Cleaning Trauma.
With great reluctance I finally let the water flow. I shook ever so gently but even with the gentlest shake, men are condemned send drops flying where they shouldn’t. I zipped, grabbed a tissue and wiped the rim.
This toilet, I determined, would remain stain-free.
The shower was a different matter. When I shower at night the last thing I’m going to do is rinse it out. I resigned myself to having to face my collected detritus every Saturday armed with Bartender’s Friend.
But I do find myself nightly inspecting the sink for stray hairs and stains.
Yes, I have ownership now and take my duties seriously. But I’m also a little embarrassed to realize that women have known for decades what I finally appreciated: beneath the clothes we are unclean creatures.