Take Backs

I spoke too soon, and with far too little self-reflection, about the nesting. This morning as I went to get a cloth to clean the crumbs out of the silverware drawer, I thought, “How did this get so dirty in just four days?” Apparently my silverware-drawer-cleaning impulses have been ratcheted up to twice a week (increased from a previous average of… never.)
Poor Herr R, he doesn’t understand why I am so repulsed when I find a fish scale stuck to the bottom of a ‘clean’ bowl, or a speck of parsley in, of all things, the pastry brush. It’s hard to live with a professional auditor who can’t control her need to apply her newly heightened quality assurance standards to the dishes you’ve thoughtfully cleaned and left in the drying rack.
It’s funny that this cleaning impulse is focused only on the kitchen. It would be lovely to have crisp clean sheets every day, but the twice-a-week-cleaning concept apparently doesn’t apply there. I’ve been using the same bath towel for [redacted due to outpouring of concern for public safety], and I’m happy to wear a sweater that hasn’t been laundered since last year. Let’s not even get started with how infrequently I replace my comfy old pillows, or how I never expect there to be anything but a cloud of lint and some lost socks when I look under the bed.
My reputation as a chilled-out housemate is in tatters, and my pillows are as dirty as ever, but my fingernails have never been so clean.

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