5 Secrets Of People Whose Homes Are Never Clean

I’m a liberal, therefore I am contractually obligated to read HuffPost every single day. Well, at least that’s what the internet says and the internet is always right, right? One day, while performing my daily duty I ran across an article titled, The 5 Secrets Of People Whose Homes Are Always Clean. First of all, I was shocked that “They Have a Maid” was not all five of the secrets and B.) bullshit.

I’m sure you’re out there, clean home people. In fact, I think I actually fraternize with a few of you. Perhaps the reason you have clean homes is because you adhere to HuffPo’s secrets instead of eating half a bag of Skittles while watching a Jersey Shore marathon, but that’s beside the point. Still, I’d have to argue that no one has ever had a clean house for more than 7 consecutive seconds because that is my experience and I believe it to be true of all people. That’s the other thing I learned on the internet, feelings are facts. The other other thing the internet taught me is that cats are super funny.

Since 97.68374% of my knowledge is centered around having a not so clean house I decided the world needed a list that showcased the breadth of my knowledge. I know. I know. It’s very selfless of me, but I am here to serve my readers. Plus, I have all sorts of time on my hands unlike those people who keep their house clean all the time. Suckers.

5 Secrets Of People Whose Homes Are Never Clean

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Everything in my home has a sticky residue.

1.) They have kids. As I stated before, my home has never been completely clean for more than seven consecutive seconds and that is due in part to the fact that I have chosen to procreate. I love my children, I do, more than I love myself, but children are sticky. One of my kids is a full grown adult and she is markedly less sticky than the one that is underage. Plus, she doesn’t live at home, so her stickiness doesn’t really impact my life anymore. The littler one, though, leaves a trail of sugary drops everywhere he goes. On the counter. On the dishwasher door. On the floor all the way to and from the fridge. No matter how often I break out the sponge, everything is sticky. Welcome to my Chocolate Factory, you can call me Willy.

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Tiny boulders of death.

 

2.) They have pets. I have a cat, Jojo. You may know her from such blog posts as, Relationship Status: It’s Complicated and A Day In The Life Of This Sick Blogger’s Cat. Jojo uses any opportunity to seek revenge on us. One of her favorite ways to be vengeful is to use the kitty litter box IMMEDIATELY after I clean it. I clean and scoop and sweep, making everything pristine, risking potential infection from her “deposits” only to have her hop right back in there and make more work for me. As if that weren’t petty enough, she makes extra certain to create a trail of litter carried from her fluffy paws all the way across the floor and throughout the house. If you thought Legos were murder on the feet, tiny boulders of dried clay are mass murder. Basically, Jojo is Ted Bundy.

3.) Their bodies are a little wonky. I’m not even going to pretend like my home was immaculate before I became ill. I was, at least, less sucky at housework before I had a softball sized tumor growing in my upper thigh. There were many weeks after my surgery where I was unable to walk on my own. As if you didn’t already know, it’s hard to run a vacuum when you’re using a cane. Oral chemo brought its own complications. After spending hours in the bathroom losing the entire contents of my bowels I didn’t much feel like washing dishes or wiping the dust from the slats of the blinds. Even today, I have times where the pain is just too much. The greatest thing about laundry, which also happens to be the worst thing about laundry, is that it will still be there when you’re able. Same goes for the dust and the dishes. I know this from vast experience.

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The sink was clean once, but in the span of time it took me to get my phone to document it someone snuck a dirty spoon in there.

4.) They have any type of food allergy. The husband and the little kid have food issues. I’ve got issues as well. No, no. Food issues. Ok, I’ve got other issues, too, but today we’re strictly talking about food. As a consequence of said issues, we rarely eat out. I don’t really mind. I love to cook and I’m thankful that I’m able to keep these fellas healthy. The downside to my home kitchen being our own personal IHOP is that there is a constant stream of dirty dishes. I’m forever loading or unloading the dishwasher or slowly whittling down the ever growing pile of syrup encrusted forks and plates. It never ends and the sink is never clean and that’s a reality we’re all just going to have to deal with. Luckily, my sink is deep and can hide a multitude of culinary sins.

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5.) They have a closet full of crap that is bursting at the seams and the contents are waiting to fall on them. We’ve recently moved. The day the movers came was the closest I’ve ever been to a psychotic break. When I first walked into our empty apartment I was certain the entire contents of our home would fit here. I suppose they would have, but at a certain point in the unpacking process I quite simply gave up. I was like, I’ve got dishes and clothes and a place to park my ass at night. I’m good. The rest of it just went into the back closet, which is now so precariously packed that every time the door is opened I fear I will meet my death via 857 boxes falling on my head. When we have a guest stay with us and they think they can use the closet for its intended purpose, I am forced to run scrambling to quickly shut the door lest they become a victim of my poor stacking job. It probably makes me look like I’m a serial killer and that’s where I hide the bodies, but in reality I just don’t want my friends and family to know I suck at cleaning. Besides, any fool knows you hide the bodies in the attic. Duh.

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