Cleaning. America’s favorite unpaid side hustle. Unless, of course....you get paid to do it...
Let's be real. If you don’t do it, the trash piles up until your house smells like a morgue on a hot day. Or so I’ve heard...I’ve never actually sniffed a corpse, but I imagine it’s somewhere between week-old leftovers and a landlord’s cologne.
Nothing like scrubbing the sins out of a countertop at 2 a.m., hunched over like some broke mystic with a spray bottle for a rosary. Civilization collapses, the oceans rise, the stars burn out, but God forbid there’s a discarded shoe by the front door.😫
We’re out here exorcising crumbs like they’re demons, waging war against dust bunnies with the kind of devotion saints used to reserve for God. ‘Cleanliness is next to godliness,’ they said. Sure. And godliness is just another word for pretending you’ve got your shit together when you don’t. Bleach fumes for incense. Broken mop buckets for relics. And the vacuum? The choir of angels. Hallelujah, the floor is sterile.
My soul is still rotting, but at least the dust stopped unionizing.