11 July 2003
"Hi, it's me."
"So, how are you?"
"Hey, I have to ask you a question."
"Hmm. What's the best way to clean a kitchen floor?"
"Cause I got a bucket of hot water, right, and some of that soap with bleach in it and I'm on my hands and knees with a scrubby pad but there's still little bits of gunk that I can't get up."
I could hear my father interjecting his opinion in the background.
"Hm. Dad says use Mr. Clean."
"Well, I'm kind of limited on my cleaning supplies...all I have is that Finast brand stuff."
I used to say Fine-Assed just to amuse myself.
"Well, I guess just do what you're doing, then."
Right now all I wished for was two things: one of those little razor-blades-on-a-stick that all the janitors had at the Port Authority to scrape gum off the floors, and a roommate who did not constantly shed her long, dark curly hairs all over the house.
"Okay. This stuff is really drying out my hands. I smell like bleach."
Not an entirely pleasant smell, but it sure beat eau de rotting food.
"Well, do you have something lemon-scented to counteract it?"
I thought of all the parts of the world that were dying so that I could have a clean kitchen floor.
"Nope. Don't worry about it. I'll burn a candle or something."
"So, truly I have become my mother's daughter."
I could almost hear the smile in her voice.
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