How I Overcame My Teeny Tiny Panic Attack

A really, really good friend will be coming over for afternoon tea in two days. When I heard the news, I had a teeny, tiny panic attack as the state of our cave, er, house now isn't what you would classify as spic and span.

So off to the store I went to buy some cleaning implements and replacements of the ones that we have that have long languished in the Hardly Been Used So I'll Just Die prison. Since my kitchen gets really oily due to the lack of an exhaust vent, I am now faced with a sticky, dusty, dirty floor to tackle.

I figured I wouldn't want to use the spray floor cleaner because I don't like the smell, I'm scared of all the chemicals that are in it and I'm a masochist that way, so I opted to go down the tried and tested route -- water, detergent (chemicalschmemical! I like the smell of detergent!) and good old-fashioned scrub sponge. The morning was squandered away scrubbing the floor and wiping it clean, seeing a very distinct difference from the old, dirty floor to the newly cleaned one. I was thoroughly aghast. I can't believe how dirty our floors were! And I can't believe that I actually finished scrubbing the floor all by myself! I was pretty proud of it, really. Not only that, this sense of accomplishment carried me through wall scrubbing as well, but I don't think it carried me high enough to any piece of wall higher than my 5 ft 1 in.

There you go, my first adventure in being a domestic diva all summed up in a couple of hours' worth of floor and wall scrubbing and feeling mighty proud of myself.