I’m not sure if it was all that drinking I used to do, but recently it feels as though I raced through my twenties and early thirties as a young, immature and somewhat irresponsible youth, before waking up on the other side of 35, as a proper grown up. Something in particular brought this home to me earlier on this week; my purchasing of an electric steam mop.
My other half, lovely as he is, is not the most domesticated chap I have ever met. By way of an example, when I ask him to clean the kitchen sides after cooking dinner, he tears off a scrap of kitchen roll and slides it back and forth across the surfaces a couple of times, minus any detergent, soapy water, or anything else that may constitute a hygienic, germ-killing aid.
Thus, you may appreciate that he was not quite as excited as I was when a man delivered a large, cardboard parcel a couple of days ago, which contained my new Groupon bargain buy, the steam mop. I, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to tear open the box, fill that sucker up with water, plug it in and get steam-mopping! Earlier that day, I even (this is how sad I am, and how obsessed with cleaning) deliberately, and somewhat joyfully, left the dog’s muddy footprints and a few pram wheel streaks on the floorboards, purely for the purpose of getting the maximum effect from my clever new device.
I was very pleased to see the steam emitting from the mop head after just thirty seconds, as promised on the instructions, and even more so when I witnessed the ease at which my new cleaning device cut through that dirt, as if assisted by the most powerful of bleaches (which it wasn’t, it just does it with steam – amazing!). Back and forth I went, the dog and baby looking on in amazement. I could almost hear what they were thinking; “How gleaming that wooden floor looks! How fast and efficient that machine is! It’s truly wondrous.”
Afterwards, as I reclined in the chair with a cup of herbal tea, admiring my handy work and that lovely new gadget leaning up against the wall, it’s work (for today) now done, it did occur to me that I am indeed a true grown up. I get my kicks out of steam-mopping my kitchen floor. I am excited by hygiene, fulfilled by the purchasing of a bargain cleaning product.
There was a time when all my spare cash went on bottles of wine from the local Tesco, and I only felt excitement if unlimited booze and a full packet of twenty fags formed the basis of my evening’s entertainment. Not so these days – now that I am a responsible adult, it’s all about spending my disposable income on an electric steam mop (you should buy one, by the way, if you haven’t already, they are a truly wonderful invention), and finding thrills in the shininess of my wooden kitchen floor.
(If you do buy one, be careful that you don’t slip over on your exceptionally polished floor, if wearing just socks. I went flying yesterday after a mammoth steam-mopping session and bruised my coccyx.)