Unnnatural high

It’s something you dread doing. No amount of reasoning or excuses will stop it from happening. Using the “I have a headache” line won’t do you any good. You’d rather scrub the toilet instead of doing this chore. But, you don’t.

Inevitably, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do – scrub the tub.

Since I’m the sort of person who doesn’t particularly enjoy sitting in grime, I know every once in a while I’ll have to pull out a panoply of cleaning products to remove the curvy line of dead skin cells and soap scum that surrounds the inside of the tub.

There are so many products that I wonder why Proctor and Gamble doesn’t make one liquid that tackles everything and calls it ‘Easy Clean,’ or something. In my cleaning bucket alone, there’s Scrub Free, Vim, Pine Sol, Lysol, and bleach. Too much for too little. I end up pulling out the bottle of Scrub Free, spray the perimeter of the tub, and watch the foam roll down the sides.

When I come back a few minutes later, the tub looks worse. There are streaks of clean interspersed with streaks of crap. Fuck. I pull out the Vim from cleaning bucket and place some on a sponge and start scrubbing. It’s not working. There’s still a ring around the tub. Then, I grab an SOS abrasive pad and rub it along the side, not knowing whether it will ruin the paint finish. Nothing. As a last resort, I find a large scrubbing brush – used to remove caked-on stains on clothing – and give it a try.

For the next few minutes, I’m giving myself an upper body workout that I didn’t sign up for. With every movement, each one of my muscles is flexing and contracting at an alarming rate. My arms, chest, shoulders, abs, and back are burning.

Unfortunately, my eyes are also burning due to the fumes. Even though I’m wearing a mask, the smell of several bleach-based cleansers make my head spin. Around and around. If I get up too quickly, I like my blood pressure is dropping and I lose my balance. Instead, I lean backwards, away from the tub, and inhale. I do this a few times until I have to sit on the floor with my head against the cool feeling of the wall tile.

Who the hell needs psychotropic drugs when you’ve got household cleaning products?

After 10 minutes of scrubbing – and in-between breathing breaks – the tub sparkles. The layer of grime is gone and it’s now spotless enough to eat off it (although I’d rather use a plate). I don’t want to get it dirty again because I don’t want to go through that ordeal one more time.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to lie down. I have a headache.