Routine house Inspections make me either feel like a crazy Bi-ach or just a flat out fucking asshole, I get mean, I get all twitchy on the inside where my black spotted soul usually is. Inspections also make me a lousy parent because I am unusually on edge and they’re all like “Where the ‘F n L’ (Moo thinks F n L = Fucking hell) has nice mum gone from earlier this morning and who is this red faced demon bitch in her Pj’s with the old manky squeegee and a bottle of diluted windex because she’s gotta make that shit last and she’s almost out”. The Tv baby sat our kids today because…
We rent our house from a woman who left this place looking like she had smeared cheese all over it and some bloke called Charles still hasn’t redirected his mail for over 2 years to the point that I feel like we must be close friends by now. I hope you’re reading Charles.
Renting other people’s homes comes great responsibility and immense pressure from the suited up agents that you immediately dislike because of said pressure. She comes in, walks around, raises eyebrows at the same time at the array of children’s toys spread around the place or not in my case this time because …. inspection….
I am then judged based on how clean I was able to make my house in a mad rush the day before and the morning of the inspection. And If my fucking dog has ripped up something in the backyard again or taken a shit on the pavers, I will be mad, very mad, if anyone leaves their toothpaste spit on the mirror that I struggled to clean with minimal windex and water, I will be mad, very mad. However if I were able to pick a day for her to come it would almost always be any other day of the week other than the one she’s picked, my home is generally kinda clean and tidy on a regular basis. This is just made all that bit more painful because I’m being forced to clean not at my own leasiurely pace. And of course my inspections fall on the day after a public holiday every dang time and I’ve just let it slide for a few days, but any other days, she would probably have to be impressed. Maybe. Perhaps I’m thinking too highly of my abilities here. Stop me if I’m wrong.
Anybody that has kids or dogs or kids and dogs knows; that it doesn’t matter how clean the house was the day you cleaned it, it has absolutely no relevance to what it’s going to look like when you get up at 7am the next day because while you slept, oh… while you were sleeping, the bedsheet was ripped off the clothes line and it was eaten and ripped apart like a Pull-a-part cheesy vegemite loaf and someone walked around the kitchen shoving things off benches willy nilly and taking shits on the floor. It’s quite impressive.
People (clearly people who don’t rent) say “Don’t stress, just take it easy”… I will say this once and once only, Shut it. I did that once, biggest mistake ever, I received an email that afternoon stating how disappointed she was and she expected better from me because the window sills were dusty….. The window tracks were dirty… and my house was lived in. Who in the world cleans the window tracks anyway, unless you’re… like, my mum or a cleaner, or a mum and a cleaner. The walls were too dirty and apart from the fact when i move I can just wash them… I had a 1 and 2 year old at the time for fuck sakes! This woman had 4 kids of her own, does she not know my pain? Does she not know my suffering? I bet she has a cleaner mum. Or a mum cleaner. I must get me one of those. One time we painted half the fucking house because our kids (itty bitty spawns of satan) drew all over the walls in permanent Sharpies. They drew a dick on my lounge, a dick on my lounge. Then one time we repaired a smashed window when Batman threw a pack of baby wipes at it, we should be applauded. Look at all the things we do. Look at it.
-Cue Applause-. Thanks.
So the pressure is on and I am filled with cleaning rage and overwhelming busi-ness in my brain that I turn into a fucking jerk.
The hours after the big ‘Clean’ are filled with words like “Don’t you dare touch those toys” and “No one gets a shower tonight” And “don’t you dare get pee on the floor because I will cut you“, because we all know that water droplets on the shower screen ruins everything and makes the house look like someone lives here and we can’t have that. Can we? NO. We can’t.
Are. you. crazy?
After I’ve completed the ‘Clean’ I stand looking around at my newly cleaned kitchen and clean house that I incessantly cleaned for like 6 hours straight and appreciate it for that moment. Until the children announce they are hungry. What? I have to feed you now? It is dinner time after all and I probably should feed them, but you know what that means right? They want me to use the clean stove top, so I do and I’m standing there carefully stirring that tomato based pasta sauce as to not dirty said clean stove top, when plop out of the pot on to the beautifully polished stove is a blob of tomato and zucchini sauce. I mutter “Of FUCKING course” because…. fucking inspection. I risk my finger’s health wiping it up, closer to the flames than I would like to have my finger and a highly flammable tea towel. I will die for you clean kitchen.
Night time falls, finally we sit, nice, sweetly relaxed, CLEAN. The kids are all asleep in their cleaned, mopped and dirt free rooms, they however are not clean because no one is allowed to wash. Right now, it’s 11pm and It’s time for bed. I need to brush my teeth because I stress ate some Tim Tams after dinner. I head the the bathroom and search for my toothbrush but I don’t find it because oh yeah thats right Neeks. You idiot. You used your own toothbrush to clean the tiles in the bathroom today, Why did I use my own? I don’t really know but I deeply regret this now. So instead I pull a teeny red toothbrush off the cutesy animal hook on the wall and brush my teeth ever so gently and delicately with some other kids toothbrush because….