It's winter. We've had some snow, only partially melted after almost a week. Yes, it's cold...but that's not the white expanse that will be the death of me.
I'm talking about my kitchen floor.
Who ever thought a whitish kitchen floor was a good idea?
In a house of crumb droppers and iced tea spillers, the floor is a constant reminder of my less than lackluster domestic abilities, and the futility of any endeavor to keep the place clean.
Dust bunnies and cat hair have frequent meetings along the baseboards. When the furnace runs, these broom-elusive clumps roll like tumbleweeds across the room.
I can tell you what we had for dinner this week by looking at the dribbles and crumbs below the kitchen counter where we do most of the kitchen prep work. The area beneath the kitchen table could provide CSI personnel and anthropologists with ample opportunities to determine how we live at mealtimes.
I constantly insist that I am not the sloppy one - The Mister and The Boy claim their innocence despite the evidence of comestible carnage littering the floor.
Even Jeff Muppetstein denies that he's to blame.
Perhaps we have night visitors who drip Jackson Pollack-like patterns of liquids and gleefully shake the toaster over their heads while we sleep?
I attack the floor with a vengeance - the broom-aversive fuzzies make sweeping a comical event. Breadcrumbs, rogue Honey Nut Cheerios and the ever-present cat hair often elude the dustpan. I resort to using the Swiffer to complete the task of removing debris. I am momentarily giddy with my dominance over the dirt, confident that I snagged all of the offensive material. For those five seconds, I am victorious...then a bit of cat hair or dust glides by, and I know that I am in a no-win situation.
Mopping is an exercise in futility. Mr. Clean is called in to help. When my aging joints are achy, I sit in my computer chair and roll around the floor, giddily brandishing my mop. The sticky bits and spills are taken care of. I am jubilant.
But sometimes, even Mr. Clean lets me down. It's inevitable - he's a man, after all.
Online, I read that vinegar and water will make the floor shine like nobody's business. I eagerly tried this approach - because we all know that nobody lies on the internet.
It worked like a charm!
For several minutes, the floor gleamed like glass. Then I saw a bit of cat hair swirling around and I was crestfallen. Oddly, the aroma gave me a sudden desire to whip up a tossed salad...and a grape tomato rolled under the table.
I'm doomed. My only hope is to wait for floor manufacturers to hurry up on the Deluxe Toastcrumb line of ceramic tile.