Dirty Secret

I'm going to admit something that's kind of embarrassing: I'm a bit of a slob.

Its the least Dutch thing about me, because Dutch people? Are clean. OCD has nothing on tidy Dutch folk. Raised by a proper Dutch mother, a witness to proper Dutch cleaning all my life (I have an aunt that went to housewife school when she was 13, swear to God), I'm completely lackadaisical about clean.

And while in most things The Boyfriend and I pretty well see eye to eye, on the state of our apartment, our styles tend to clash a little (perhaps he's a little bit Dutch?).

I'm of the why-make-the-bed-in-the-morning-if-I'm-going-to-get-right-back-in-it-again-tonight? mindset; he's all about hospital corners. I throw my clothes on the floor; he folds his neatly on the bench beside the bed. I kick my shoes off the moment I walk in the door, land where they may; he lines his up with military precision.

You get the idea.

I like a clean apartment as much as the next person, but I'm not so down with the process that makes it that way. I have loads of memories of spending Saturday mornings with a cloth and a can of Pledge in my hand. Of whole weekends spent digging through the detritus that made up my tween life (Leonardo, I still love you). Of how much time that all took when I could be outside climbing trees, riding bikes or playing street hockey (those of you that know me now are probably fairly surprised to hear about how I spent my childhood- I had a brother, just the one sibling at the time).

Tonight was the first night all week where after work I could just go home and do nothing. I was so looking forward to it. Then I mentioned to The Boyfriend that The Record was coming over to watch the game tomorrow night and I could just see his eyes glaze over as he thought of the state of our apartment (which consisted of some clothes on the floor and a bit of a messy kitchen). No worries- he had a plan. We would spend at least part of the evening cleaning.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't put up a fight. I grumbled through the whole thing and when asked if I could sweep the kitchen floor for him (I'm always responsible for laundry) I totally balked (must have been a painful Saturday morning flashback circa 1994). I told him I didn't want to do it because I was like that child that is learning how to use a broom and he's Kate Gosselin and there's no point in my doing it if he's just going to re-do it.

He told me if I did it right, it wouldn't be an issue. Just sweep, then swiffer and he can steam mop it.

You heard that too right? The process for a clean floor? Sweep (big pieces), swiffer (dust particles), steam mop (makes the floor proper clean).

We're picking up our puppy on Saturday (eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!) and I suddenly realized that a) The Boyfriend is totally nesting and b) this will be his very last clean floor for years.

So I swept and swiffered the hell out of that floor. And our relationship survives another day.

That's right- my name is the Job Snob, I'm a slob and my boyfriend is Mr. Clean.

Add a puppy and life's alright on this snowy April night.