Last week my husband came home from work and did the dishes for me. He did them because he’s a nice guy, but I felt guilt-trippy about it. I’m such a bad wife and housekeeper, I thought to myself. Today while Baby Tiger napped I chose to curl up in bed and listen to a podcast instead of doing the dishes. So in order to compensate I felt a desire to scrub my tile kitchen floor with an old toothbrush.
Normally I Pinterest these things first to find a tried and true cleaning method, but I was feeling a little reckless. I grabbed an old pickle jar, dumped some vinegar in it, then topped it off with some hot water. I dunked the toothbrush and went to town on some grout smack dab in the middle of the floor.
About ten minutes later my guilt trip petered out and I realized Why am I on my hands and knees cleaning my floor with a toothbrush? I have laundry to fold, a microwave to clean, and about a million other projects to do and I’m scrubbing my floor with a toothbrush?
I stood up to survey my work and concluded it looked no different than the rest of the floor. Well that was a waste of time.
But I spoke too soon. I later came back to find an island of tan grout in a sea of nasty black grout. You couldn’t miss it.
The days went by and the sea of black grout taunted me. You’ve seen how clean I can be. You can’t just leave me like this. Clean me!
So that’s where I’ve been the past couple weeks. Cleaning my grout. With a toothbrush.
I finished today. My floor has never been so happy. But then an awful thing happened. I noticed the tile in the downstairs shower. It’s bad.
So if you need me, you know where to find me. Cleaning some more tile. With a toothbrush.