The Naked Housewife™: Naked in the Kitchen

June 1, 2001
      A friend of mine, who shall remain nameless at the moment, emailed me that the only way that she can possibly scrub the kitchen floor is to get naked - that is, except for a pair of pink rubber gloves and full make-up - eyelashes included.
      She sent me a pair.
      I may just try them - after I climb the cherry tree and pick what I can of these humongous cherries. Never say a pet rabbit is not useful.
      I need to do this before the field pumpkins from the Halloween we never celebrated reach the side fence because they came up by themselves and came up in the other rabbit cage locations. They came up with a vengeance and I must thin them fast or they will take over the yard and each other.
      I will move some out front.....
      She evidently did this naked in the kitchen routine when her teenager was safely gone from the house and her husband was sleeping due to painkillers and foot surgery.
      She thought that she was safe.
      So there she was, down on all fours, back to the kitchen door, when she heard clapping and a wolf whistle.
      Yep, her husband had managed to get to the kitchen.......
      She sent him back to his room.
      She prefers not to have an audience.
      Well, with two cats who have decidedly never learned to be neat.... (Although, Little Bit will bury whatever Ranger leaves. He prefers pristine cat pans. Or it just lays on top. Wrong house for him.) 
      I need to sweep and vacuum and scrub the floor.
      Especially if we are getting my younger son out of bed. He walks barefoot.
      And is neutropinic.
      And I can never spell that word.
      It means his immune system (i.e., bone marrow) is down and he can't fight things off. We are in the middle of the early part of his battle with Leukemia.
      It's a holiday weekend and I always clean SOMETHING, so I decided to do at least part of the kitchen floor.
      Probably because I was barefoot, in my nightgown, and sticking to it. The floor.
      So I grabbed the big sponge and the Clorox Clean-Up (which I use by the gallon) and got on my knees and scrubbed out that spot that was annoying me. Out, out damn spot!
      While I was down there, I extended my reach. After all, the contrast was mighty.
      And got foam bubbles on my nightgown. Which will probably have a white streak across it now.
      Like I care.
      I thought of my friend's solution.
      I yelled at the boy to stay in his room, checked that the front door was locked, and chucked the nightgown down the hall.
      I did leave on the panties. I did not, after all, have any rubber gloves or false eyelashes and one must have something.
      I scrubbed 50% of the floor. I was not dressed for dumping the cat pan - that's tomorrow's activity. And I did not want cat litter on the sponge or my knees. Skip that area.
      But I got the walking area door to door.
      And it is white again. 
      And feels good to walk barefoot on, again.
      So I was pleased.
      I did have to streak the house to get to my room.
      I warned my kid to close his eyes (in case his door was open).
      No sense in stunning the lad.
      Even with breast reduction surgery and permanent perkiness, I am overweight and nearly 60 after all. I do have a mirror. Scary.
      And he's young yet.
      My friend, ever supportive, has now gifted me with pink rubber gloves.

      My friend insists that she learned this housekeeping trick from her mother when she had complained about ruining too many outfits by leaning into a counter that was in the process of being cleaned. Clorox and Clorox cleanup are the best cleaning products, especially with a cancer patient in the house. I learned the trick from my friend when I was complaining about ruining my clothes.

      I feel the need to pass this on.