Step One: Get the vacuum out of the closet.
Step Two: Let it sit in the living room for days, (okay, okay!), I mean, weeks, waiting for it to magically clean the house by itself. Or maybe those damn cats will stop using the hose as an attack launch site, GET THE HINT and learn to vacuum. (Or stop shedding completely.)
Sigh. None of those things ever happen.
Step Three: Go on a tear and clean everything - in the front part of the house that is - including steam cleaning the floors.
Then I'm sweaty and exhausted and NEVER want to have to clean again. That never happens either.
When I was little (around three) I had a crush on Mr. Clean. That's right, you heard me. The bald headed, earring wearing, genie-in-a-lamp-looking, cartoon man. This cartoon crush led to my liking of bald men.
Pretty sure this should be addressed in therapy.
(The power of advertising!)
(Want to win at trivia? Mr. Clean's first name is Veritably.)
Once, a bald man bought my mother and I lunch. We were both wearing hats and looked pretty stunning and it's possible he thought we were high priced
That's the only time anything like that has ever happened to me, unless you count that time in Ireland when this young man asked if I cared for a "bit of sport". He took it pretty well when I declined. He wasn't bald or I might have considered it. (just kidding people.) Also, he was very drunk and I was not. It might have turned out differently if things had been reversed.
(An aside: Proctor and Gamble, Mr. Clean's parents, has taken to assuming that I want Febreeze in my Magic Erasers, (which I am totally over the moon about - Magic Erasers, not Febreeze). P&G, I would like to go on record as Do Not Like-ing. I can't get the perfumey stink off my hands.)
I find this hilarious.
First - Are you kidding?
Second - My cartoon BF is not gay!