I have had an affair going on in my life for 40 years or more. It isn’t the kind of affair that can ruin a marriage, or one that you keep secret, but it isn’t one that anyone outside of my thought life knows about. Read on if you want the gory details.
In the cleaning category I am a bit of a ‘freak of nature’. I believe in all natural products, I’ve made many of my own cleaning supplies since the 70’s. My sister’s family calls me things like “Lavender Lover”, “Hemp”, “Auntie J the vinegar lady”. While cleaning out Roxy the new trailer yesterday, I found a half used bottle of white vinegar and I knew it was ‘KIZMUT CLEANING KARMA’. We were made to be together, destined for a whole new clean future. Well, the unfortunate truth was that the grunge that can only happen in a ‘Man Camping Elk Trailer’ vinegar and dish soap and baking soda just wasn’t cutting it. Literally. Gummy greasy stuff just got kind of a sticky-soupy, but didn’t leave the surface on the rag when I scrubbed at it.
I was huffing away in the 90 degree sweatbox when my mind started to wander the way it can in a mindless task. It was then that I remembered him.
Mr. Clean. Maybe it’s the inner bad girl in me that wants the muscle bound, white Tee-shirt clad earring brandishing, arm crossed across the chest pleasant man, but whatever it is, he’s on my mind. I think about that distinctive scent of his, the way that neon lemon-green looks on him, the power I feel when we are together. I don’t know, but that cleaning product, Mr. Clean is intoxicating to me when I pour a slug of the toxic liquid onto a magic eraser sponge and just wipe away grime. No scrubbing, just an easy monotonous rubbing and wiping that leaves a gleaming surface behind even on things I can’t believe disappear. Things like magic marker, and the six inch circle of something I was kind of afraid of but that a straight ammonia soak didn’t touch, paint over-spray and other carbuncles of cleaning despair.
It was after 7 straight hours of bonding with my Genie, a toothbrush, magic eraser sponge, a filthy rag and mechanic strength rubber gloves, that I realized something this man of great physique had done for me…no other man had. This investment of time together between just he I showed me something. I had biceps again. The kind of aching biceps any weight training babe would smile at when she made a Popeye pose in the mirror. Ya sure, my back ached and my head was a little funny from the heat; the smell of my own armpits as I cleaned the ceiling offended my feminine senses, but I caught a glimpse of my bulging bicep in a wall mirror in the trailer. All this focused low rep work had transformed my bicep wobble into a steely ball of bulging power to be reckoned with.
I was powerful in the hands of Mr. Clean. I looked 20, 15, or even 10 years younger. I had MOXY. For a minute I fell in love with my personal trainer like a student and teacher. The crush made me flush, drunk with the power of life. Oh, Roxy and Mr. Clean you are transforming me as much as I am you. This is a beautiful relationship.
24 hours later I sit typing and I wonder what product is out there that will work on my aching back, sagging middle, and sore knees when I finish scrubbing the rest of Roxy today? Yesterdays 30 something in the mirror is todays 2nd cup of coffee and a pain reliever looking for motivation and a personal massage therapist. Yet deep in my heart, the love affair continues and I look forward to the next CLEAN adventure. That is the stuff that keeps this dream going. New adventures at every corner and a chance to become all that I can be. Living today in a vintage way.
I’ll love you always Mr. Clean.