cleaned all the blinds in my house.  My house has twenty-two windows, each with its own set of thirty-four blinds.  White, faux-wood blinds; the kind that get dirty.  Especially when you let months go by without cleaning them.  See, I decided to spend my spare time this last month spring cleaning the bajeebies out of my house, and cleaning the blinds was the last item to be checked off my list.  This is because, instead of starting a project with the most difficult job as I’ve so often been advised, I decided to save the most difficult job for last.  Some people might call it procrastination, but I find that such a harsh word.

What you really need to know here, my faithfuls, is how much I hate cleaning blinds.  And I mean hate.  No font size or style exists in cyberspace to effectively convey the disgust and contempt I feel about cleaning window blinds.  There are no caps LARGE enough, no bold bold enough, no italic slanted enough to make you, the reader, comprehend the depth of my emotion regarding this topic.  [sociallocker id=”9134″]And so you see why, upon completing this horrific and frightening endeavor, I simply had to write about it.  Writing about something makes it real, and I still don’t quite believe that I made myself wipe and wash every single blind in my house, one by one, this last weekend.  Putting the experience down on paper (screen) will, I hope, cement the reality of my triumph.  Had I just escaped from two days in a Turkish prison, you can bet I’d write about that too.  And let me tell you, mi vidas, the two days I spent cleaning seven hundred and forty-eight window blinds couldn’t have been much more fun.

However: the greater the suffering, the greater the reward.  And as such, I don’t think the view of the world through the eyes of a prison escapee could be much sweeter than the one I beheld as I finished scrubbing my last, single, solitary blind.

Wow! Can you tell how clean those blinds are?  (Yeah, me neither.)

But wait.  Before you’re too underwhelmed, look at the view through my (also freshly cleaned) windows when I raised said blinds:

Imagine clawing your way out of a dark prison cell–or a weekend inside cleaning your house–to take in this:  sunshine, blue sky, green leaves, and just a peek of the pool that will soon be open for business.  Imagine looking out this window, taking a big deep breath, and thinking that the spring cleaning is finally done and spring is finally here.

It was a great weekend.  [/sociallocker]

Otherwise, how could I afford a luxury like this?

After years of gazing upon it with hungry eyes, I finally reached the riches of middle age and bought myself the Shark S3101 Steam Mop.  And it’s every bit as magical as it’s been in my dreams.[sociallocker id=”9134″]

Guys, you don’t even use cleaner in this thing.  Just fill the tank with water (cold from the tap!) and the little motor heats it up, then pushes steam through the specially-designed-microfiber-fancy-schmancy-pad-thingy.  The steam shoots down into the tile grooves and “loosens and lifts” the dirt to get your floor much cleaner than a normal mop can.  See the brown tile floor above?  It was practially white by the time I was done.  Practically.  (Okay, maybe virtually.)

But the most impressive piece of the Shark S3101 Steam Mop is neither the motor nor the microfiber nor even the mulberry-colored handle, pretty though they are.  No, the tool’s loveliest surprise presented itself at the back of the instruction manual, where I found this:

Yes, mi vidas, it is an actual space, designed and assigned by the Shark S3101 Steam Mop Company, to write down any notes one may have about one’s Shark S3101 Steam Mop.

Special notes.  Important notes.  Private notes.

About one’s mop.

For a repressed housewife like me, it’s almost too good to be true:  like the god of journalism married the goddess of housekeeping and invited me to sign the guest book.

But, what to write?  How to begin?

(Cursive or print?)[/sociallocker]