Ick Factor

Remember that serously-part-time job that I mentioned months ago, the one where I go clean a house when someone moves out of it? The one that is SO part time that I’ve done 2 houses and one apartment in the last 8 months? The one that Master volunteered me for because he gets to do those things with my time? That one?

Yeah. So that’s what I’ve been doing the last two days. Cleaning someone else’s filth. (at the detriment of my own house I might add. I honestly do not recall how I ever used to work and keep my house clean. Those of you who do? Hats off. You rock.)

Anyway, this house? Is DISGUSTING. Oh my fucking God. I don’t know how people live in such grody-ness.

Not that my own house is spotless all the time because it isn’t. It’s not like I’m some elite cleaning fanatic.

But you will not find mildew on my toilet. My floors are not a new color after mopping. You won’t have to throw away the cleaning rags when you’re done.

~shudder~

Srsly. Filth like you would not believe.

I have 13 hours in so far at this house and I’ve cleaned the master bedroom/bath, a half bath and about 3/4 of the kitchen.

That’s it.

There is still another full bath, 2 bedrooms, a laundry room, living room, stairway and hall, entry way, 3 big closets, the rest of the kitchen, and the kitchen floor (which I’ve mopped twice already and I’m still rinsing mud out of the mop. I honestly don’t know what color the floor is supposed to be.)

And it stinks. Smoke, pets, rotten food, dirt- blech. I want to shower in bleach. Blech I say.

Anyway, my husband, who is the bestest husband in the history of EVAR, is buying Subway for dinner because I am too pooped to pop. I luffs him bunches and bunches. I do.

Bye!

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