Cutting criticism
My parents are coming back from their vacation and I have to get the house ready for their arrival. The house isn’t dirty, but everything is covered with a thin layer of dust that has to be wiped clean.
In order to speed up this process, I ask my sister for a little assistance in the matter, since two neat-freaks are better than one.
For the next couple of days, my sister and I use every available cleaning product to eliminate any stain and odour we come across. When we’re done, you can hear the ding and the flash of light associated with a spotless house. There is no dirt and grime to be found, and you can eat off the floor (although you don’t have to since there are plenty of clean plates in the kitchen cabinets).
After picking up my parents at the airport, we take them home and wait for their surprise upon entering the squeaky-clean abode.
Unfortunately, someone has a different opinion the moment we open the door.
“You were here for how long and the least you could’ve done was pick up a broom…” are the first words my mother says the minute she walks through the vestibule. No, The house smells nice, or, It’s so good to be home. Nothing. Just a tongue lashing.
I look over at my sister with daggers in my eyes. She grabs my arm, opens her eyes wide and mouths, Don’t say anything.
“Look at this place. It’s a mess,” my mother continues. “Now, I have to spend the next week cleaning...”
And that she does.
In the following days I have to endure the senseless babbling of my mother, while she points out every hair on the floor and every speck of dust that has fallen from the sky.
“If you had bothered to clean anything in the past month, I wouldn’t be doing this right now,” she repeats ad nauseum.
What I really think she means to say is, “If I wasn’t shitting up the house with my subpar attention to detail and the inability to use clean water to rinse off any crap that I left over when I was using a crusty rag to wash the floor, I’d be living vicariously through the gossip of my friends because I have nothing else better to do with my time like learn how to be a total nag of a mother.”
But then, I’m not one for cutting criticism.
In order to speed up this process, I ask my sister for a little assistance in the matter, since two neat-freaks are better than one.
For the next couple of days, my sister and I use every available cleaning product to eliminate any stain and odour we come across. When we’re done, you can hear the ding and the flash of light associated with a spotless house. There is no dirt and grime to be found, and you can eat off the floor (although you don’t have to since there are plenty of clean plates in the kitchen cabinets).
After picking up my parents at the airport, we take them home and wait for their surprise upon entering the squeaky-clean abode.
Unfortunately, someone has a different opinion the moment we open the door.
“You were here for how long and the least you could’ve done was pick up a broom…” are the first words my mother says the minute she walks through the vestibule. No, The house smells nice, or, It’s so good to be home. Nothing. Just a tongue lashing.
I look over at my sister with daggers in my eyes. She grabs my arm, opens her eyes wide and mouths, Don’t say anything.
“Look at this place. It’s a mess,” my mother continues. “Now, I have to spend the next week cleaning...”
And that she does.
In the following days I have to endure the senseless babbling of my mother, while she points out every hair on the floor and every speck of dust that has fallen from the sky.
“If you had bothered to clean anything in the past month, I wouldn’t be doing this right now,” she repeats ad nauseum.
What I really think she means to say is, “If I wasn’t shitting up the house with my subpar attention to detail and the inability to use clean water to rinse off any crap that I left over when I was using a crusty rag to wash the floor, I’d be living vicariously through the gossip of my friends because I have nothing else better to do with my time like learn how to be a total nag of a mother.”
But then, I’m not one for cutting criticism.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
8 Comments:
aww, it totally sounds like my mother when i was a teen. nothing was ever up to her standards.
Not that I'm advocating this or anything, but have you ever thought of a swift blow to the side of the head to maybe jar her brain into proper functioning.
Not that I advocate that or anything...
Next time you have to house sit, bring in bags of mulch or topsoil and spread it around. She if she can tell the difference between clean and dirty then.
Thank god I was such a mess as a teenager that just a quick vacuum and mop has my mother delighted and bragging to her friends.
I'm sure that's when terms like "fastidious" come into play. You know, those gay codewords.
Is your mother still living?
She would not be had she given birth to me!
Indy: Exactly.
JUS: Have thought of it, but haven't implemented it... yet.
Six: True. But, she'd have to clean it up and make me hear all about it.
Jeff: This from a man who loves his Electolux!
Joe: I forgot to mop. Damn!
Lemuel: Yes, she's alive. How old do you think I am??
Geez, that must have been so frustrating. Sam's mum is a bit like that but at least she wouldn't complain and just re-do everything herself.
Um...time to move out?
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