The Crazy Bitch Chronicles: Chapter 1
Due to my lack of job, I've been cleaning my mom's place every Friday morning for the past few weeks. For the most part, it's a pretty easy job - I mean, I lived with the woman for the majority of my life, so I know how she likes each task done. In the past few months, I've noticed that more than a couple of the things that drove her nuts about living with people also drive me nuts about living with people. Granted, I've never claimed to be the most tidy of people, but there's a difference between having to take care of your own damned mess and having to tolerate the pigsty that someone else has created.
Now, with that being said, there are some things that my mom wants me to clean that I would never, ever, in a million years care about, such as the glass lamp shades from the dining room that she requested I throw in the dishwasher today. For the most part, I believe that no one would really take the time to clean these when it is still possible to see through them. When they got bad enough, I suspect most people would take a paper towel or a dishrag to them and wipe them down. Not my mom. My mom had me pull them all down and wash them in the sink. She only agreed to this course of action when it was pointed out that she would have to wait longer for the lamp to be put back together if they were put through the dish washer. She was sad that they wouldn't be sanitized, but she gave in so she could have light.
Thank goodness my mom has Zoloft.
Now, with that being said, there are some things that my mom wants me to clean that I would never, ever, in a million years care about, such as the glass lamp shades from the dining room that she requested I throw in the dishwasher today. For the most part, I believe that no one would really take the time to clean these when it is still possible to see through them. When they got bad enough, I suspect most people would take a paper towel or a dishrag to them and wipe them down. Not my mom. My mom had me pull them all down and wash them in the sink. She only agreed to this course of action when it was pointed out that she would have to wait longer for the lamp to be put back together if they were put through the dish washer. She was sad that they wouldn't be sanitized, but she gave in so she could have light.
Thank goodness my mom has Zoloft.