In my April 12 post, “(Dark) secret to a spotless home,” I rationalized that my house did not have to be immaculate. Still, I scurried to do some cleaning before my mother could arrive for a visit.
On any other day I would tell you that I don’t seek my mom’s approval. Not any more. But today I can’t. Because soon after writing that post, I found myself bleaching the refrigerator.
In my defense -- and yes, I’m feeling defensive -- my fridge is from the 1960s. It’s got age spots. And is prone to mildew growth where the door seals. So I brought out the bleach. That’s where my perfectionism took hold.
While cleaning the fridge, I noticed how white my dish cloth was becoming. So I took all the just-washed kitchen linens back out from the drawer and bleached them as well.
“I caught myself opening the refrigerator doors to see the gleaming enamel.”
Stumble It!
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