It's April, and that can mean only one thing. I need to get the duster out.
At least, that's what all the lifestyle magazines are telling me: It's time to tackle spring cleaning.
No idea, really, why there's no such thing as summer cleaning or winter cleaning. But right about now, we're all supposed to get off our duffs and reach for the pail, the broom and the mop.
Fun city. I don't know about you, but cleaning is not on the top of my list of Favourite Things to Do. Eating Spaghetti is right up there, as is Watching The Bachelor and Reading Mysteries.
But cleaning doesn't make the cut - and certainly not the springtime kind. After all, done right, I think you're supposed to do a lot more than vacuum.
You're also supposed to wash the curtains, wipe down the walls and throw away three-quarters of the 26 casserole dishes that are living inside your cupboard.
"We should be spring cleaning right now," I informed the family the other day. The husband was trying to go down for a nap in the living room, and the son was on his device.
Neither responded.
"Who wants to clean the grout in the shower?" I asked.
There were no takers.
"Or wipe down the Venetian blinds? Or clean the dust balls from under the beds?" These were among the must-do tasks I'd been reading about. And they were only the indoor ones.
"OK," I said, "who wants to bag up all the detritus in the flower beds? Or restain the deck? Or give the lawn chairs a really good wash?" Silence. The family, it was apparent, was about as enthusiastic about spring cleaning as I was. The family clearly feels there are better things to do in April than to reach for the sponge, the soap or the rubber gloves.
"I'd do the shower thing," said the husband, "but I need to check my socks right now. You know, just to make sure they all have mates."
Fair enough. I get that.
I began to wonder about the people who write those magazine pieces listing the 10 cleaning projects I need to tackle NOW, and decided I really didn't like them. From now on, heck, I think I'll just ignore them.
"OK," I said. "Forget the grout. And the dust balls. Who wants to go out for lunch?" The son put down his device, and the husband got up from the couch.
The sorting of socks would just have to wait. Burgers and fries were calling.
